
.LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 



Shelf— 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 






















. 








- 

. 




V)| 






















































* 






*• 














2 . ^ 





























































































> 

* 























* 









































4 . 










h 











































w 









































































































vy 

Fru Dagmar’s Son. 

A SURVIVOR OF THE DANMARK” 


BY 



JULIA McNAIR WRIGHT, 


AUTHOR OF “THE CAPTAIN’S BARGAIN,” “THE STORY OF RASMUS,” “A MADE 
MAN,” “THE DRAGON AND THE TEA-KETTLE,” “HANNAH, ONE OF THE 
STRONG WOMEN,” “ FIREBRANDS,” “ THE LIFE CRUISE OF CAP- 
TAIN BESS ADAMS,” “ THE .BEST FELLOW IN THE 
WORLD,” "JUG OR NOT,” ETC. ETC. 



NEW YORK: 

The National Temperance Society and Publication House, 

58 READE STREET, 

1891. 


Copyright, 1891, by 

The National Temperance Society and Publication House. 


PRESS OF 

THE NATIONAL TEMPERANCE SOCIETY AND PUBLICATION HOUSE, 
58 READE STREET, NEW YORK, 


I 


In ancient days, from the time when King Arthur’s 
heroes sat about the famous Round Table, until the gen- 
tie Don Quixote crowned and closed the days of chiv- 
alry, there were knights-errant wandering up and down 
the world. These slew great dragons, rescued dis- 
tressed maidens, executed the evil, vindicated the right, 
captured castles, and returned home laden with the 
spoils of the unjust, over whom they had triumphed. 
In these modern days there are also giants and dragons 
to conquer, and there is fair field for display of all 
knightly virtues; and here, in the following pages, we 
show you a valiant little gentleman, worthy of Arthur’s 
accolade, — a nineteenth century Sir Galahad. 

The Author. 



CONTENTS 




CHAPTER I. 

Uncle Kars and the Kat 

CHAPTER II. 

Castle Famine and the Princess . 

CHAPTER III. 

Fru Korner Conveys Supplies to the Garrison. 

CHAPTER IV. 

My Aunt Henrietta Ib 

CHAPTER V. 

The Evacuation of ‘ ‘ Castle Famine ” . "*"7 T 
CHAPTER VI. 

Lars Materializes a Ghost 

CHAPTER VII. 

Priest Andersen 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Two Little Pilgrims 

CHAPTER IX. 

“ I’ve Killed my Aunt Henrietta” . . 


PAGE 

7 

25 

43 

61 

1 79 
97 

11 3 

131 

14S 


VI 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER X. 

PAGE 

Jens Iveson and the Blue-Eyed Maid . . .165 

CHAPTER XI. 

The Sailing of the Ship 181 

CHAPTER XII. 

The Man Who Died at His Post . . . .197 

CHAPTER XIII. 

How Death Stood at the Helm . . . .213 

CHAPTER XIV. 

“Out of the Depths Have I Cried Unto Thee” 230 

CHAPTER XV. 

When the Night was Darkest .... 247 

CHAPTER XVI. 

A Tropic Island 265 

CHAPTER XVII. 

The Home of Thorrold Iveson . . . .281 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Thorrold Iveson Sees His Way Clearly . . 29 7 

CHAPTER XIX. 

News that Flies Fast 314 

CHAPTER XX. 

How Chickens Finally Come Home to Roost ' . 


33o 


FI^U DAGMAR’S SON. 


CHAPTER I. 

UNCLE KARS AND THE KAT. 


41 The tempest crackles on the leads , 

And, singing spins from brand and mail ; 

But o'er the dark a glory spreads 
And gilds the driving hail. 

I leave the plain , I climb the height; 

No branchy thicket shelter yields : 

But blessed forms in whistling storms 
Fly o'er waste fens and windy fields .” 

A March evening and cold. Sleet beginning 
to fall in the streets of Praesto, a little Danish 
village on the Island of Zeeland. There were 
four or five street lamps in Praesto, and the dull 
yellow gleam of one limned certain small con- 
centric zones of light on the muddy sidewalk 
before Herr Abts shop. Two candles dimly 
burning on Herr Abt’s counter revealed the in- 
terior of the shop, but refused to send more 
than an uncertain straggling ray through the 

7 


9 


Fru Dagniars Son. 


coarse thick window glass. With his arms 
about the lamp-post, and “ bowing ” upon it with 
all his weight, as Samson in the House of Dagon, 
was a boy of thirteen. Clad in homespun, with 
no over-garment suited to the keenness of the 
weather, his yellow curls cropping from under 
a small home-made cap, giving way to hearty 
grief, and clinging, for want of a living sympa- 
thizing person, to the weather-beaten lamp- 
post, at his feet a pitiful little bundle tied in a red 
kerchief, Lars Waldsen was met and over- 
whelmed by the sorrows of orphanage and 
exile. A heavy portion that for a boy of thir- 
teen, my masters ! But this is a world where 
the majority are not coddled upon rose-leaves 
for any great length of time. 

Around the corner of the nearest cross-street 
came a stalwart young Dane, crashing along in 
wooden sabots over the small stones in the foot- 
path ; his full tawny beard blowing in the raw 
wind, his arms folded over his chest to help 
keep himself warm. The big chest had a very 
big heart in it, and this descendant of the Vikings 
stopped short at sight of the boy. With one 
large hand he lifted the bowed head, with not 
unkindly force, and then cried out — “ Why, 
it’s never Lars Waldsen ! crying here in the 
street ! ” Then, as his toe touched the bundle 


Uncle Kars and the Kat . 


9 


in the kerchief — “ Lars ! Lars, what has hap- 
pened to Frii Dagmar ? ” 

“ She's dead,” sobbed Lars, “ dead and 
buried ! >7 

“Dead” — said the Viking, with a sudden 
choke in his voice. “ Dead — and why are you 
out here in the night, Lars ? Where are you 
going ? ” 

“ I’m going to Korsor with my Uncle Kars 
Barbe. He is in the shop here. I wait for him.” 

“ A nice uncle he must be/’ stormed the Vik- 
ing, “ to take you out on such a night without 
a cape coat ; no wonder you are crying with 
cold/ 

“ I'm not crying with cold,” retorted Lars 
indignantly. “ I can stand cold as well as any 
man ; but my uncle has sold all our things ! He 
sold the little house and all that was in it ; he 
sold the wheel by which my mother always sat 
singing as she spun ; he sold the hand-loom 
where she wove the cloth for our clothes ; he 
sold all her dresses and other things ; nothing 
is left but this one silk kerchief which Frii Lis- 
bet bought and gave to me” — and Lars opened 
the breast of his jacket, and showed, lying on 
his bosom, a purple silk kerchief, that his mother 
had been wont to wear on her neck on Sun- 
days. 


io Frii Dagmars Son . 

“ And who gave him leave to sell all your 
things ?• ” 

“ The Hofmeister, no doubt. You see Uncle 
Barbe is my guardian, and my only relation, 
and when my mother found that she was about 
to die, she sent for him, as he was her brother. 
But she had not seen him for many years, and 
when he came, I think she feared him. But 
it was too late. Soon she died. He promised 
her that he would do well by me and make a 
son of me ; but he has sold all our things, our 
home and all, for two hundred rix dollars, and 
Frii Lisbet says she makes sure 111 never get 
any of it.” 

“ Is that Uncle Kars in the shop talking with 
Abt ? ” demanded Jens Iveson, putting his whis- 
kered face against the small dull window- 
panes, and glaring malignly into Herr Abt’s 
shop. “ He don’t look much like being a father 
to any body.” 

“He told my mother that he had also adopted 
his wife’s niece Gerda, and was a father to her.” 

“ I wouldn’t trust him,” vouchsafed Jens. 
“What is he doing in there ? ” 

He is selling the last of the things — my 
mother’s rings and hair ornaments and a silk 
shawl, and the big Bible. He is selling the 
big picture Bible where my mother used to 


Uncle Kars and the Kat. 


i 


read to me every night ! It had her name and 
my father’s in it. That’s why I’m crying. It 
is our family Bible he sells, and our family 
record is there, do you see ? and the marriage 
of my father and mother, and my birth, and the 
certificate of my baptism and confirmation — he 
is selling it ! ” * 

“ Selling your records ! Why that is to blot 
you out, and leave you as no more than a dog 
or a pig,” quoth Jens. 4< Let us see if he shall do 
that ! ” Whereupon he stalked into the shop, 
and leaning over the counter where the leather- 
bound Bible lay, he demanded: ‘‘You sell 
the Bible of Frii Dagmar, and the records of 
her son ? If you rob the boy Lars in that 
manner, you shall have Junker Jens Iveson to 
reckon with/' and coolly pullingfrom the band 
of his trousers a great knife used by the Kar- 
les, or farm hands, in their work, he turned 
open the Bible, and cut out the family record. 

“Who is that?” demanded Uncle Kars, 
trembling so that his teeth chattered and clicked 
like dice shaken in a box. 

“It is Jens Iveson,” said Herr Abt, with a 


* Ninety-nine per cent of the Danish population are Lu- 
therans. Children are confirmed early and the records of 
baptism and confirmation are legal papers, and are greatly 
cherished. 


12 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


quavering voice, “ a man with whom no one 
should quarrel. He is strong — I have seen 
him, when he had taken much brandy, so as 
one would think him Thor come back to the 
earth. The old Jotuns were nothing to him, 
nor Samson of whom this book tells ! But 
Frii Dagmar could wind him round her little 
finger, or subdue him by a look of her eye. 
It was she that got him to give up drinking, 
and that set his brother Thorrold on going to 
America.” 

“ I wish this one had gone to America too,” 
growled Uncle Kars. “ America is the place for 
all fiends and fierce creatures, who make Europe 
too hot to hold decent people. Come, Herr Abt, 
the price agreed upon is the same ; the fellow 
has not hurt the book. Indeed, it will sell far 
better without those pages.” 

Meanwhile Jens Iveson strode out to Lars 
and gave him the precious written pages, saying 
— “ Keep them safely. They have thq writ- 
ing of your father, whom you don’t remember, 
and of your mother, who was one of God’s saints, 
and is now in glory. A boy with both parents 
in Heaven cannot come to much evil, for surely 
the angels will have a care of him. How are 
you going to Korsor to-night ? ” 

“We are to walk out to the cross-roads and 


Unde Kars and the Kat . 13 

catch the stage at midnight,” said Lars, fold- 
ing his family record in the purple silk kerchief, 
and tucking both carefully in his bosom. 

“ Have you had supper ? ” 

“ Frii Lisbet gave us supper. I could not 
eat, I was so sick in my heart of sorrow ; but 
Uncle Kars ate well. He ate an entire pork 
pie and almost a pound of cheese ! He told 
me it was always well to eat heartily of what 
cost us nothing.” 

“ One would not think such a weazened 
whiffet of a man could hold so much,” quoth 
Jens, again addressing his face to the window- 
pane. 

“ I see also he considers it well to drink 
heartily of what costs him nothing. He is 
using up Herr Abt’s schnapps until he turns 
Herr Abt pale.” 

“ He is very fond of brandy and beer and 
schnapps,” said Lars. “ The doctor had left a 
pint bottle of brandy in our house, and Uncle 
Kars drank it all the day he came. It made 
him sleep. He was asleep when my mother 
died.” 

“ Did she know that ? ” asked Jens. 

“ No, of course not. Why should I grieve 
her at the last, by letting her know the man I 
was left to lay drunk as a pig ? ” 


14 Frii Dagmars Son . 

“ If he is as miserly as you say,” replied Jens, 
“ he will not get drunk very often, it costs too 
much money. When I drank I was in debt 
from year to year; now I have a purse full of 
money. You shall have it, Lars. Only for 
your mother every penny of it would be in the 
wine house till. Here, boy, take the whole of 
it, nine rix dollars.” 

“No, I have money,” whispered Lars, re- 
pulsing the proffered purse. “ I shall not need 
money; my uncle promised to take care of me, 
and put me in his business.” 

Jens shook his big head unbelievingly. 

“ Count on me for your friend, and if the 
little uncle does not treat you well, say the 
word, and I’ll come to Korsor and break him 
as I would a rye straw.” 

“ I’ll try mothers way first,” said Lars. “ I 
promised her that I would be good all my life, 
that I would endure patiently what could be en- 
dured. I guess I can get on with Uncle 
Kars.” 

Herr Abt’s bottle of schnapps being emptied, 
Uncle Kars appeared on the threshold, and, 
looking timorously at the big Jens said, “ Come, 
boy, we need to be going.” 

“ Good-bye, Jens,” said Lars, holding out his 
hand. 


Uncle Kars and the Rat. i5 

“ Good-bye,” said Jens, shaking the cold, 
slender hand vigorously, “ and good-bye to 
you, Uncle Kars, and if you don’t treat this 
boy well, never forget that if his mother can’t 
get out of Heaven to come down and punish 
you, here’s a big Karle named Jens Iveson who 
could beat you to a jelly in three minutes, and 
would take pleasure in doing it.” 

Away went Jens, not now whistling and 
cheery, but hanging his head, his sabots seem- 
ing to cleave to the pavement, for that Frii 
Dagmar, his friend and preserver, was dead, 
and Lars, her son, had fallen upon evil times. 

“ I should say the devil was inside of him 
with his hair and hoofs on,”* said Uncle Kars, 
hurrying along toward the post-road. “ I’ll 
see to it that in Korsor you don’t make any 
such evil acquaintances as that.” 

The heart of Lars was too heavy even to 
rise up to defend his friend. Besides he instinct- 
ively felt that defence of Jens would be based 
on principles which Uncle Kars could not com- 
prehend. On, on, he and Uncle Kars tramped * 
along the half-frozen roads. The sleet ceased 
falling, and the moon came out through rifts 
of clouds, but the raw air was nothing warmer. 

*This is a very common phrase in Denmark for a violent 
person. 


1 6 Fru Dagmars Son . 

The waiting under a little thatched shed, 
for half an hour, until the coach came by, was 
even worse than the walk, for the motion had 
kept Lars’ blood in circulation, and now he was 
nearly perished with cold. Uncle Kars had 
saved a few pennies, by walking to the cross- 
roads to meet the night coach, and he now 
saved a few more by taking places on top of the 
vehicle, instead of inside. As the middle place 
in the seat was warmer and more sheltered 
than the outer one, Uncle Kars took that and 
left his nephew the worse position. Lars was 
overcome with drowsiness, cold and exhaustion. 
Thus it happened that as the coach rattled 
along, the driver was startled by seeing in 
the moonlight the shadow of a passenger los- 
ing balance and swaying far out over the 
coach side. 

There was a little tumult on top of the coach, 
and the driver pulled up his horses. Looking 
angrily around, he saw the pale handsome face 
of the sleepy boy who had narrowly escaped 
falling, the moonlight illuminating the circle of 
fair short curls cropping out from under his cap. 

“How now!” cried Jehu to Uncle Kars. 
“ What sort of a man are you to put a drowsy, 
slim lad like that on the outside place, and 
take no manner of care of him ! Do you want 


Uncle Kars and the Kat. 17 

to get his neck broken P And I vow if this boy 
is not travelling without any cape- coat such a 
night as this. A pretty spectacle of a father 
you are with your coat.’’ 

“ I’m not his father, nor anybody’s father,” 
growled Uncle Kars. “I’m his uncle; it’s not my 
business if he has no coat.” 

“His uncle! Well, I don’t know whether 
that’s so much the worse or so much the better ; 
depends on how much you have to do with 
him,” said the driver. “ Come down here into 
the boot with me, my boy ; you’ll be safe here.” 

So he dragged Lars down into the empty 
and envied place at his own side, into a thick 
pocket of furs. Lars felt a delightful warm foot- 
stone pushed under his benumbed feet, and a 
N wolf-skin robe tucked up about his ears. 

“ Sleep away,” said the coachman ; “ you’ll be 
as warm as an apple baking on the hearth, and 
I’ll warrant you can’t fall out of there.” 

The next that Lars knew it was broad day, 
and the stage had stopped at a little tavern. 
The stable boys were leading away the horses, 
the driver was climbing down to the door- 
step. Beside the driver stood the inside pas- 
senger, a tall, slender man in a high, pointed 
felt hat, a long cloak, a ruff about his neck 
which indicated his clerical estate. 


Fru Dagmars Son. 


18 


“Lars!” cried out Uncle Kars from his 
seat on top, “ did you do as I told you last night, 
and put a breakfast in your pocket from Frii 
Lisbet’s supper table ? ” 

“ No/’ said Lars slowly. How very hungry 
he was ! 

“So much the worse for you,” grinned Uncle 
Kars. “ I helped myself. I always do when 
victuals are freely offered.” 

He took out an immense sandwich and be- 
gan munching it. 

“ So, the boy is to go without his breakfast ?” 
cried the driver. 

“ No, he is not,” said the man with the ruff. 
“ I invite him to eat with me. I enjoy a meal 
better when it is shared.” 

Lars needed no second invitation from the 
pleasant face and winning voice ; he scrambled 
out of the boot. 

“ I should have asked him myself, Priest 
Andersen,” said the driver, “ if you had not. 
But it is right that you do it. A true Priest 
is the father of the people.* 

“ I see you have a crape on your sleeve/’ said 
Priest Andersen, as he and Lars entered the 
dining-room, and sat down by the breakfast table. 

* In Denmark the Lutheran pastor is always called a priest, 
and is usually so addressed. 


Uncle Kars and the Kat . 19 

There was a strip of coarse crape tied above 
Lars’ elbow, by Fru Lisbet. 

“ I am mourning,’’ said Lars, “ my mother 
has just died.’’ 

“ And your father ? ’’ 

“He died before I was a week old. I 
seemed to forget him, you know. But my 
mother, oh she was the best! We lived at 
Praesto. Did you ask if I had a good 
time? Of course I did. Wouldn’t any 
boy have a good time living with his 
mother ? ” 

“ A good mother is never lost to her son,”, 
said Priest Andersen. “ I speak from experi- 
ence ; mine died when I was of your age. 
But she has never seemed to perish out of my 
life. She has always seemed near me. I have 
tried to guide my life by her counsels, and daily 
I think of the time when we shall meet again. 
She will have the same eyes, the same smile 
the same warm love in her heart. When we 
finally meet, it will seem like only a little while 
since we parted. Time passed is always short. 
I think you may feel that your mother will 
be glad when you are honestly happy, and she 
will rejoice when you obey her counsels. Don’t 
forget that.” 

The Herr Pastor was filling up Lars’ plate 


20 


Fril Dagmars Son, 


as he spoke, and a certain matter-of-fact 
cheerfulness in his tone encouraged Lars. 

Here was a man who had suffered a loss like 
his own, and had lived through the years, and 
was good and happy. 

“ Make a man of yourself, even if there are 
difficulties in your way. Go to school all that 
you can, and learn all that you can. Go to 
church and keep in mind the doctrines that have 
been taught you. Don’t forget your prayers, 
and be sure and read your Bible. I suppose 
you have a Bible ? ” said Pastor Andersen. 

“ We had a nice big one,” said Lars, getting 
red in the face, “ and my uncle, out in the coach 
there, sold it.’’ 

“ That is bad. Still, as I always carry a 
Bible, I can remedy the loss, in a way. You 
shall have this of mine. It is just like one I 
gave to my son last week. Y ou may not have 
the easiest time in the world if you live with 
your uncle, so I will advise you for your help 
two things — Yield where you can ; and never 
yield a principle.” 

The friendly talk of Herr Pastor, and the 
fine hot breakfast began to revive Lars’ spirits. 
He felt more equal to his fate. As they left 
the dining-room the stage driver said : 

“ Come, Priest Andersen, you have fulfilled 


Uncle Kars and the Kat. 


21 


your duty; you have given the lad a breakfast 
and a Bible, food for the body and food for the 
soul, finish up by giving him your blessing. 
A good man’s blessing is not like water spilled 
on the ground.” 

Lars, with ingenuous grace, pulled off his 
scrap of a cap and bent his curly head. The 
tall pastor laid his hand on the bowed head and 
said, “ The Lord bless thee and keep thee; the 
Lord lift up the light of His countenance upon 
thee, and give thee peace.” 

“ Let me write your name in my note-book,” 
he said, before they returned to their places in 
the coach ; and he looked a little curiously at 
Lars’ homespun and home-made suit, and coarse 
shoes, and his fine, atistrocratic face and pose. 
He said to himself, “ The dress is that of the 
Insidder, but the face is the face of a Herre- 
mand.” 

An Insidder is a laborer, a Herremand a gen- 
tleman. 

“ My name is Lars Waldsen,” said the boy. 
“ We are poor now, but my mother's name was 
Barbe, and my mother’s grandfather was a 
Herremand, and my father’s grandfather was a 
Gaardmand ” — for in Denmark class distinc- 
tions are rigidly maintained, and the blood of 
a Herremand, or country gentleman, and of a 


22 


Fril Dagmars Son. 


Gaardmand, a yeoman farmer, is held in great 
esteem by his descendants, especially if they 
have fallen in the social scale. 

Once more tucked into the boot beside the 
driver, Lars began to ponder. His future looked 
dark enough. His humble home of the past 
had been quiet, hospitable, happy, lit by his 
mother’s smile. His future lay in the keeping 
of Uncle Kars, while Frii Lisbet, Jens, the coach 
driver, Priest Andersen, all seemed to hold 
U ncle Kars in very low esteem. And then a man 
who lay drunk when his only sister was dying ! 
A man who sold his nephew’s family Bible ! 

“ My little chap,” said the voice of the driver, 
“ if you are going to live with yon man on the 
top of the coach, just remember the old prov- 
erbs, “ hard words break no bones,” and ‘ least 
said soonest mended.’ Don’t rile him by talk, 
for talk does no good when you can’t back it 
up with actions. The hardest things don’t last 
forever ; you’ll be a man in a matter of eight 
or nine years. Moreover, there is a law in the 
land, if he gets to be too cantankerous.” 

A flight of ravens from a wood swept round 
the coach and their harsh cries interrupted the 
driver’s counsels. But all men seemed to Lars 
as ravens croaking of evil to come, as he rode 
toward Korsor. 


Uncle Kars and the Kat. 23 

Korsor at last ! Uncle Kars and his nephew 
left the coach at the entrance of the little 
town. This street, that street, here was Un- 
cle Kars’ house — a brick house standing close 
to the uneven brick walk, and touched by the 
branches of two lime trees which grew before 
it. Across the front of the house, between the 
two stories ran a huge carved oak beam, wrought 
in cherubs and lilies, with Glory Be To God 
carved in great Gothic text in the centre. 
Down the side of the house stretched a big 
leaden pipe for rain water, with a big lions 
head for the water to run out through. The 
front door was carved, double, heavy; all man- 
ner of imps and satyrs and grinning beasts 
chiselled on the panels, mocked at Lars as he 
entered with his uncle. The house was dark 
and fireless. Uncle Kars led the way to a 
cold kitchen. No living thing appeared but 
the very thinnest cat Lars had ever seen, a great 
brindle cat with green eyes. She did not come 
to meet them, but shrunk into a corner and 
glared. 

“ Where is the little girl Gerda ? ” asked Lars. 

“ Oh Gerda ? Children are lonely and need 
occupation, you know, so I hired Gerda out to 
work for Frii Heitzen, next door. Girls should 
learn things. What could I teach a girl? ” 


24 


Fru Dagmars Son. 


“ Do you mean to hire me out ? ” asked Lars. 

“ No, I can use a boy in my business.” 

“ But I must go to school a year. The law 
is to go to school till you are fourteen. I am 
only just past thirteen.” 

“ You are fourteen, mind. If any one asks, 
you are fourteen. I say it. You will not go 
to school. You will live here with me and my 
Kat.” 



CHAPTER II. 


CASTLE FAMINE AND THE PRINCESS. 


“ A residence for woman , man or child, 

A dwelling-place — and yet no habitation; 
A house — but under some tremendous ban 
Of excommunication . ” 


“We don’t need any dinner, since we had 
our breakfast,” said Uncle Kars. “ There is 
nothing so wasteful and dangerous for people, 
as over-eating. Two meals a day are enough 
to keep people alive.” 

“ Shall I make a fire for you ? ” asked Lars. 
“ Where is the wood ? ” 

“ There is nothing so dangerous as fire,” said 
Uncle Kars. “ It might burn the house up. 
It is also wasteful ; also it is unnecessary. Ex- 
ercise is better than fire to warm one. Let us 
get to work.” 

“ And what is your business, and what can I 
do ? ” 

“ My business is to collect curiosities and 
antiques from Sweden, Norway, and Denmark, 

25 


26 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


Heligoland, Finnland, for a great house in 
England. Your business will be to help re- 
pair and get in order and clean up the things I 
purchase ; you can keep the house for me when 
I go away to buy things.” 

“ When do you go ? ” asked Lars. “ How 
long do you stay ? ” 

“ I stay for a few days, and I go whenever I 
hear of some auction sale in the large towns, or 
that some great Herremand’s house is breaking 
up. Then I go to the sales and buy cheap and 
sell dear. As I am to teach you my business, 
boy, that is the first principle of business. Buy 
cheap. Say it is trash and you don’t care for 
buying it. Sell dear. Say it is rare, and you 
don’t care for parting with it. That is the way 
to thrive.” 

“ It is written in the Bible,” said Lars : “ ‘ It 
is naught, it is naught, saith the buyer, but 
when he goeth his way, then he boasteth.’ I 
don’t think it means to praise up that way 
though.” 

Uncle Kars had taken some brasses from a 
chest and was spreading them upon a table. 
They were old and dim. He took out similar 
brasses, new and evidently just from the foun- 
dry. Next he found in a drawer a bottle of 
dark liquid and a soft brush. 


Castle Famine and the Princess . 27 

“ Now, boy,’ ? he said to his nephew, “ the 
stuff in this bottle is a secret, but if you wash 
those brasses over with it carefully, they will 
soon look as old as these others.” 

“ I think they are much prettier new,” said 
Lars, as he began the task. “ Why do you 
spoil them ? ” 

“ Because those greedy kites and thieves of 
Englishmen like them better that way,” said 
Uncle Kars ; “ and I make my living by the 
English trade.” 

“ There must be honest men in the world to 
trade with,” said Lars. “ Why don’t you trade 
with our own countrymen ? My mother told 
me that Danes are honest men. Why do you 
trade with thieves ? ” 

li No matter how big a thief a man is,” said 
Uncle Kars, polishing a brass, “ his money is 
just as good. The English thieves have the 
most money, so I trade with them. But never 
fear. They can’t cheat me. I’m a match for 
the best of them.” 

In fact, Lars shivering and hungry, tarnish- 
ing the brass cups and servers, began to think 
that he had fallen into the talons of the great- 
est kite in the whole falconry! He looked 
about the old kitchen ; the floor was dirty and 
warped, the walls blackened by smoke, the 


28 


Fru Dagmars Son . 


plaster fallen in places, the beams overhead 
festooned with cobwebs, the hearth foul, the 
lean cat crouched in a window ledge, her bones 
nearly piercing her skin. Only the upper half 
of the shutters was open, and Lars and his 
uncle worked in the semi-gloom. 

“ I don’t see why you sent Gerda to work 
out,” said Lars eying his dismal environment. 
“ You need a girl here, some one to tidy up, to 
clean the floor and windows, and brighten the 
hearth and set a good kettle of soup steaming 
for you ; some one to keep your house as it 
should be.” 

“ And waste soap and coals and food ! ” 
screamed Uncle Kars. “ If those are your no- 
tions, no wonder your mother died poor. I 
don’t care for the state of my house.” 

“We were not poor,” said Lars. “ My 
mother said no one was poor who had a stout 
heart, hands to work, the love of his fellow 
creatures, and the fear of God before his eyes. 
We had all that. And my mother always 
taught me that a good man cares for his living 
place, for the roof over his head, and the 
hearth he sits by, and that it is his home, and 
he should love it. I loved mine — and — you 
sold it.” 

“ Nonsense,” said Uncle Kars, “ the money 


Castle Famine and the Princess . 29 

will be worth more to you. How would you 
get food if you had had no money ? I am a 
poor man. If I shelter you, it is all I can do.” 

“ A poor man,” said Lars stoutly, “ should 
not live in a house with carved doors.” 

Uncle Kars laughed with joy that his 
nephew was so observing. “ Did you notice 
the doors ? And the beam ? And the leaden 
spout ? Y ou have an eye for my trade ! That 
is well. Let me tell you I got the house for a 
song — from a young man who wasted his 
property. He is dead. The house — the 
house could be sold in pieces for a noble pile 
of kronen. I could sell the doors, the beam, 
the ceiling, the stair ballusters, the casements, 
the leaded windows, the wainscotings.” 

Lars was growing so faint and hungry that 
he could not listen to Uncle Kars’ discourse. 
He concluded to lead up gently to the idea of 
food. He ceased to work on the brass, and 
leaning his arms on the table remarked : “You 
must have forgotten to leave food for the cat 
while you were gone. See how thin she is. If 
you’ll tell me where to get her some milk, I’ll 
feed her. It’s dreadful to be hungry.” 

“ One soon learns not to be greedy and 
gorge themselves,” said Uncle Kars, calmly. 
“ As for the cat, are you crazy ? If I fed her, 


30 


Frii Bagmans Son. 


she would never catch mice and rats. It is 
wasteful and dangerous to feed cats.” 

“ How can she catch rats and mice if there 
are none in the house ? ’’ demanded Lars. 
“ And they won’t come, where nothing is 
around for them to eat, will they ? ” 

“ I give her a bit of bread twice a day when 
I eat,” said Uncle Kars, “ it is wasteful and 
dangerous to eat too much.” 

Uncle Kars, having finished his work on the 
brass, told Lars to pick up his bundle and 
come with him through the house. Dark 
rooms and stairways and halls, dirty, unaired, 
and filled with old treasures : old dishes, and 
old furniture, old cloaks of velvet and silk ; rags 
of lace, old coins, old cups and plates, of silver 
bronze or gold ; carved chests, ancient wea- 
pons, worm-eaten books, curious musical in- 
struments ; tapestries hung along the walls, 
dim pictures in antique frames, clocks of whim- 
sical make, all dull and dusty and having the 
scent of tombs. Lars shivered more and more. 
This house could never have been warm since 
it was built. 

“ I never saw such a lot of horrid old things,” 
said Lars frankly. 

“ English and Americans are willing to pay 
high for them,” replied his Uncle. 


Castle Famine and the Princess . 31 

‘‘ English and Americans must have money 
to waste, if they give it for cracked china and 
old black pictures, and cupboards full of worm 
holes, and rusty money that won’t go,” said 
Lars, eying the collection with growing dis- 
favor, “ and clothes you can’t wear. I don't 
believe in throwing money away like that.” 

Uncle Kars chuckled at this sentiment ; he 
patted his nephew on the shoulder ; “ I’ll make 
a man of you yet,” he said. 

Someway that commendation did not elate 
Lars. He felt that a man, after Uncle Kars’ 
fashion, was not the pattern of man worthy to 
be Frii Dagmar’s son. 

“ Why don’t you keep the place lighter ? ” 
he asked, as he fell against an ancient chair, 
whose cushion had been perhaps embroidered 
by some royal princess years on years ago. 

“ Light is wasteful and dangerous ; we might 
set something on fire,” replied Uncle Kars. 
“ When I want to find things I take a lantern. 
Why do your teeth chatter so? You will soon 
get used to living in a house that is not too 
warm. Nothing is so bad as being over- 
heated. If you are very cold, you can wrap 
some of those old curtains or table-cloths about 
you, only do not tread on them.” 

Arrived at the third story, Uncle Kars told 


32 


Fru Dagmars Son . 


his nephew to lay down his bundle. “ You 
can sleep here/’ he said. 

“ I don’t see any bed,’ 7 said Lars. 

“ No — too soft beds are wasteful and dan- 
gerous — they make folks idle and weakly. 
There are three or four cushions under that 
table. You can pile up them, and cover your- 
self with some of those things lying over yon 
chair.” 

The articles in question were certain old 
cloaks, and a well-worn Persian rug. Lars 
concluded he could manage a bed for himself 
out of the antiquities, though accustomed as he 
had been to the well-aired bedding cared for by 
Frii Dagmar, he could not esteem his proposed 
couch as either wholesome or luxurious. He 
kept wondering if Gerda, the girl who had 
lived with Uncle Kars, had been treated in 
this fashion. His curiosity was greatly excited 
about her. 

Returning to the second floor, Uncle Kars 
entered a little room opening from a large one. 
The large room had in it evidently the choicest 
antiquities. Even the inexperienced eyes of 
Lars could see that. The little room was no 
doubt Uncle Kars’ den. There was a small, 
ill-furnished iron bed, a small grate, a table 
near the fireplace, with a decanter and a green 


Castle Famine and the Princess . 33 

wine glass standing on a tray ; an iron-bound 
chest, with a pistol lying on it, cocked, and a 
tall, strong secretary, bound in brass. Uncle 
Kars opened the secretary and took a small 
packet from his breast. Before he consigned 
it to the secretary, he undid the packet. Lars 
saw the one heirloom and pride of his mother’s 
heart — six thick silver teaspoons, with curious- 
ly twisted handles, embracing a heraldic device. 
The spoons were a relic of Herremand Barbe, 
his great-grandfather. 

‘‘Those are mine!” he cried impulsively. 
“ They were my mother’s.” 

“T only keep them for you, till you are a 
man,” said his uncle, hurrying the treasure into 
a piegon-hole of the secretary. Then, to divert 
Lars’ mind : “See, I also keep for Gerdaher 
‘ Bridal Crown.’ He held up a small cap of 
rich lace, adorned across the top with a broad, 
thin band of glittering gold, in which two or three 
small garnets and emeralds were set. 

“ I wish she lived here now,” said Lars. “I 
shall be so lonesome. I have been used to my 
mother always with me.” 

‘‘ Gerda is a little demon,” said Uncle Kars. 
“ She was greedy. She was never satisfied. 
Because I would not let her gorge herself, 
what did she do when I set her to darn a most 


34 


Fru Dagmars Son. 


splendid tapestry, but cut out ever so many of 
the heads. Then she is more agile than the 
brindle cat ; when I was about to beat her, she 
scrambled to the top of yonder press, and there 
she jibed and flouted me, and took out a bunch 
of matches, and threatened to drop them lighted 
into the dust and rubbish behind the press and 
burn the house. I was obliged to go and fetch 
Frli Heitzen from next door, and bind Gerda 
out to her until she is eighteen, before the girl 
would give up the matches or come down. 
What do you think of such enormous ingrati- 
tude as that ? ” 

“ As Gerda is a girl, perhaps she had no bet- 
ter way to defend herself, if she was not well 
treated,” said Lars. 

“ Not well treated ! And what would you 
do?” 

“ I don’t know,” said Lars simply. “ I should 
try and defend myself more like a man.” 

A clock in Uncle Kars’ den struck six. Al- 
ready the little old lantern had been lit. ‘‘We 
will have supper,” said Uncle Kars. 

O joyful word ! The two went back to the 
kitchen. Uncle Kars unlocked a cupboard, and 
took out a loaf of rye bread, very hard and stale. 
Lars, as a Danish boy, was used to rye bread, 
but Denmark is a prosperous country, where 


Castle Famine and the Princess . 35 

even the poorest are well fed, and he had been 
given milk, cheese or herring with his bread. 
Uncle Kars cut off two thick slices of the loaf, 
and giving one to his nephew said, “ Help your- 
self to all the water you want,” then leaned 
back against the closed cupboard, and with- 
out ceremony of dishes began munching his 
bread. 

“ Is this supper ? 7 ’ asked Lars. “ And are 
you not going to feed the cat? See how 
hungry she looks ! Where is her dish of 
milk ? ” 

“Give her some water,” said Uncle Kars 
coolly. “ I never feed cats milk. Cats and 
children should not be pampered.’ 7 

Lars was very hungry, but the dumb im- 
ploring of the brindle cat’s green eyes was more 
than he could resist. He knelt on the floor 
and began to feed her crumbs of his bread. 

“You do it at your own risk,” said Uncle 
Kars. “ I shall not give you any more. How- 
ever, if you get very hungry, you can pull your 
belt a little tighter, and you will not mind .it* 
so much. Also people sleep better on an 
empty stomach/’ 

“ Do you always eat your supper without 
setting a table, or asking a blessing, or making 
porridge ? ” inquired Lars. 


36 


Fru Dagmars Son . 


“Always,” replied his guardian, finishing 
his bread. 

“ As to a blessing, I can ask it for myself,” 
said Lars. “ I was so surprised at the little 
supper, that to-night I forgot it. Still, my 
mother told me we should be thankful for small 
things when we had not great ones. But 
though I forgot to give thanks, I fed the cat, 
and as the good Lord loves deeds better than 
words, perhaps He will not mind my forget- 
ting.” 

They returned to the den, and Uncle Kars 
made a very small fire in his grate, and seated 
himself close by it in an ancient, stuffed chair. 
Then, from a closet in the mantel, he took out 
a small bottle of brandy and filled the little 
green glass. He looked askance at his nephew. 

“ I take it for my health. It is some that 
was left in the cellar by the young man who 
once owned the house. I hope you do not 
want any ; it is not good for boys. I keep it 
all locked up.” 

“ You need not be afraid of my wanting 
your brandy,” said Lars. “ I should be very 
little my mother’s son if I cared for strong drink, 
which is a thing she hated. She said a drunk- 
ard and a sluggard would always come to pov- 
erty.” 


Castle Famine and the Princess, 


37 


“ That is true. Don’t forget it,” said Uncle 
Kars, sipping a drop of his brandy, and smack- 
ing his lips. 

A great banging arose at the lower back 
door. 

“ Take the lantern and go let her in,” said 
Uncle Kars, crossly, <( she will bang the door 
down else.” 

When Lars had opened the kitchen door an 
elfish looking girl of twelve came in, a little 
wiry girl with red cheeks and with yellow pig- 
tails hanging down her back, a girl with super- 
fluous vim in her mouth and eyes. She wore a 
short scant dress of brown homespun, knitted 
hose, wooden sabots, a white kerchief pinned 
over her shoulders, and instead of a hood, wore 
a close, quaint, little linen cap. 

Lars heart warmed to her; this simple cos- 
tume of Danish women and girls brought back 
his mother ! 

“ I’m Gerda,” said the girl. “ Frii Heitzen 
said you had come with my uncle. How 
many things have you been already told were 
wasteful and dangerous ? ” 

“ Fire, light, food, beds, and feeding animals,’’ 
said Lars, promptly, and could not forbear 
laughing. 

“ As for animals, where is that cat ? I have 


38 


Frii Dagmars Son. 


some rinds of pork in my pocket for her. Here, 
kitty, kitty, kitty ! We don’t feast like kings at 
Frii Heitzen’s, but it is not quite Castle Famine, 
as it is here. Don’t you feel dreadfully hollow 
already ? ” 

Lars admitted that he did. 

“We shall see what stuff you are made of 
by-and-by,” said Gerda, skipping up the stairs 
in the dark, as one who knew the way. 

“ The stuff in me of which you will soon see 
most is my bones,” said Lars, stoically, as he 
followed with the lantern. 

Gerda looked back from the top stair. “ Ah, 
there’s something in you ! We shall have rare 
fun here.” 

“ Here I am, Uncle Kars,” she announced, 
pulling a big church chair as near the fire as 
possible, and perching upon it. 

“ I don’t see why you can't stay where you 
belong,” said her host. 

“ I shall come here every night to cheer up 
the boy, and see that you don’t kill him. 
What’s your name, boy ? ” cried Gerda. 

“ Lars.” 

“ I like that name. It has a good strong 
Danish sound. So your mother died, did 
she? Fm sorry. You’ve come to a poor 
place.” 


CasUe Famine and the Princess . 39 

“ Poor enough, poor enough ! Fm a very 
poor man,” said Uncle Kars. 

“ Bah ! ” said Gerda. “ Did you stop the 
clock when your sister died, Uncle Kars ? ” 

“ I don’t know. I think not,” said Uncle 
Kars. 

“ Frii Korner says, if you did not, misfortune 
will follow you all the year, and serve you 
right, too ! Did you turn the looking glass to 
the wall ? ” 

“ No, we didn’t,” said Lars ; “ why should 
we ? ” 

“ Why ! ! ! ” cried Gerda. “ To look in a 
glass while one lies dead, is a sure sign of 
death. Of course Uncle Kars looked in the 
glass when he got ready for the funeral. You’ll 
die within the year Uncle Kars, sure. See if 
you don’t.” 

“ Hush up,” said Uncle Kars, uneasily, sip- 
ping his brandy. 

“ Was she buried before Sunday? ” persisted 
Gerda. 

“ She was buried Saturday/’ said Lars, softly. 

“ That was well. If the corpse had stayed 
in the house, or the grave had lain open 
over Sunday, you would both have died this 
very year. And I should have been the only 
one to have all these things of Uncle Kars'.” 


40 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


“ Will you hush up ! ’’ cried Uncle Kars, 
starting violently. 

' Gerda, seated on the arm of the high straight 
chair, her feet in their sabots dangling in the 
red light of the small fire, her little lean figure 
in its dark dress, her gleaming eyes, speaking 
mischief, persisted in detailing her omens. To 
Lars she looked like an uncanny little raven 
croaking of death. 

“ What do you shiver for, Uncle Kars? It is 
a sign that some one is walking over your 
grave! I have heard the death-bell every 
time I have come into this house for a month, 
too.” 

Uncle Kars sunk his chin in his coat, and 
pretended not to hear. Gerda seemed satisfied 
with having reduced him to misery. She 
jumped down from the chair, crying, “ Come 
Lars ! Let us play ! Let me show you the 
fun I have in here with Uncle Kars’ things ! ” 
She ran into the large room and Lars followed 
her. 

“ You will be much warmer playing,” she 
said ; “ there is no heat in that cupfull of fire, 
and Uncle Kars is such an ugly sight crouched 
up there sipping his brandy! I always say 
something to make him wretched when I first 
come in. How I Lave plagued him to-night !” 


Castle Famine and the Princess . 41 

“ Why do you do it — it's — it’s — ” said Lars 
seeking for a word. 

Gerda cut short the condemnation : “ Why 
does he starve the cat ? Why did he starve 
me ? Why will he starve you ? Why is he 
the very meanest man that ever lived ? He is 
not a true Dane at all. A true Dane is honest, 
generous, strong. Uncle Kars Barbe is a fairy 
changeling, the Kobolds put him in his 
mother’s cradle. Do you know what Kobolds 
do that for ? ” 

“No, I never heard of such a thing," said 
Lars, who had not been reared on legends and 
other fiction. 

“ They put little Kobolds in cradles, to try 
and get souls for them. But Kobold change- 
lings mostly grow up bad men and love brandy 
and money far more than the souls they have 
stolen. Now I will be the Princess Bertelda. 
Help me to get the things from this shelf." 

Gerda pulled off her sabots and put on a pair 
of red satin shoes, worked with tinsel; then 
she put on a long trained skirt of brocade, and 
made a short mantle of an embroidered altar 
cloth ; on her head she placed a cap with a 
feather, part of some theatrical trappings, that 
had become Uncle Kars’ prey. She held in 
her hand a large brush of peacocks’ feathers, 


42 


Frii Dctgmars Son . 


Then she bade Lars put on a great blue cloak, 
and buckled a sword belt and sword at his 
waist ; she fastened spurs to the heels of his 
clacking, wooden sabots, and laying her long 
train over his arm, named him Lord Fritz, and 
said he was her servant. Then in state, the 
Princess marched up and down the large 
gloomy room, lost in darkness with her train 
bearer for the most part, but emerging into 
light, as the moon from eclipse, as pursuing her 
way, she came within the gleam cast by the lan- 
tern standing on a chair in the doorway, be- 
tween the two rooms. But in all their pro- 
gress Gerda talked, saw visions, told tales. 
Now they tarried while Lord Fritz slew a mon- 
ster darting at the Princess Bertelda from the 
shadow of a tall clothes press. Now again 
they delayed while Lord Fritz distributed 
largess to her kneeling subjects. Now a great 
flood was represented by a rug, and Lord Frit2 
gallantly carried the Princess through the 
waves. Lord Fritz grew warm and forgot that 
he was hungry, and neither of them noted the 
wizzened head of Uncle Kars bent forward 
with a grim smile to watch the splendors, 
graces and maneuvers of the Princess Bertelda 
and her knight. 


CHAPTER III. 

FRU KORNER CONVEYS SUPPLIES TO THE GARRISON. 


“ Rich hangings storied by the needle's art 
With Scrip five history, or classic fable; 
But all had faded , save one ragged part 
Where Cain was slaying Abel ! ” 


To Lars, Gerda became guide, philosopher 
and friend. It was Gerda who informed him 
that the work in tarnishing brasses was done 
in order that cheaply made modern brass 
might be sold as antiques ; and that some of 
the ancient brasses with curious inscriptions 
were bought by Uncles Kars from men who 
had nefariously robbed tombs in ancient 
churches. After that Lars declined to work 
in brass. “ It is not honest,” he said, “ and to 
be honest is the duty of my mother’s son.” 

“ It may be well for me,” said Uncle Kars, 
after a little consideration, “ that you are so 
particularly honest, but it will be bad for you 
when you come to be in business for yourself.” 

“No, it will not,” said Lars; “ my mother 
taught me that if we fear- God we shall have 

43 


44 


Fru Dagmars Son. 


his blesssing, and that ‘ the blessing of the 

Lord maketh rich and addeth no sorrow with 
• . » »» 
it. 

“ It was Gerda told you about the brass," 
said Uncle Kars. “ She will soon make you as 
detestable as she is herself. Has she not tried 
to fill your head about this house being 
haunted." 

“ Those are only fun stories, to pass the 
time," said Lars. “ My mother taught me that 
there are neither witches, goblins nor ghosts, 
and that he who fears God need have no other 
fear. But while I won’t touch your cheating 
brasses, I will do what I can. My mother 
taught me to sew, one winter when I was laid 
up with a broken leg. I can mend tapestry, 
and I will not cut the heads out as Gerda did." 

In truth, Lars spent much time cleaning and 
repairing tapestry and other ancient handwork. 
As his own attic was the only light place in the 
house, he did his work there. The windows 
of the attic had no shutters and the sun came 
in there all day, as the house stood east and 
west, and the attic was a single room with win- 
dows at each end. At first that attic had 
seemed terribly lonely to the boy whose cot 
bed at night had always stood near his mother’s, 
and who had heard a loving voice the first 


Supplies to the Garrison . 45 

sound in the morning and the last before he 
slept. 

Uncle Kars always sent his nephew to bed 
without a light; and groping his way up to the 
long attic, Lars would undress, pile the cush- 
ions together and cover himself with the an- 
tique draperies and quilts as best he could. It 
was small comfort that lords or princesses 
might once have slept under the old satin 
quilts, or rested their heads on the musty 
cushions ! The darkness was like that of the 
ninth plague, a darkness that might be felt. 
On moonlight nights the attic was almost more 
overwhelming. Then, all the queer assem- 
blage of antiquities seemed to grow larger and 
more fantastic, to cast threatening shadows, 
and to move as if living things. The tall 
truncheons, the spears that had been used in 
long-gone tilts and tourneys, the suits of ar- 
mor that had once cased heroes or ruffians, the 
high posts of dismembered bedsteads, the 
carved wooden giants, angels, demons, that had 
been carried in processions, or ornamented 
guild houses, or churches, or town-halls, seemed 
infused with vitality as Lars lay in his im- 
provised couch, staring at them. And as 
cloudlets drifted over the moon, and the “pearl 
of night ” travelled her ecliptic way, these relics 


4 6 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


heaped about him appeared to move, the 
plumes waved, the morions bowed, the ban- 
ners eddied as on a ghostly breeze, eyes glared 
again through the rusty helmets, and iron 
hands grasped iron pikes, and hanging garments 
rose and fell as if human hearts yet beat and 
human lungs yet breathed beneath them. 

For the first few nights in his attic, Lars felt 
as if he should go wild. Fortunately hunger 
and weariness brought the deep sleep of child- 
hood. Then wakening day after day, and find- 
ing himself unharmed, and that these exuviae 
of the past were harmless prey of dust and age, 
at last Lars’ natural valor came to his aid, and 
he made not only an acquaintance but friendship 
with his surroundings. He fancied himself the 
long-gone knight who wore the armor or 
brandished the lance, or battle-axe. He con- 
versed with visionary queens and dames who 
wore the gowns, turned the spinning-wheels, 
and wrought on the tapestry about him. But 
this was not until Gerda, by her plays and tales, 
had roused his sleeping imagination and lent it 
wings. For the education of Lars had been 
hitherto very matter-of-fact. He had gone 
regularly to Church and school, and his mother 
had talked with him of his lessons. She had 
told him stories from history and from Scripture. 


Supplies to the Garrison. 


47 


Her staid, simple mind had never traversed the 
fields of fairy lore, of romance and witchcraft 
where Gerda seemed naturally to dwell. 

Every evening Gerda spent with Lars. The 
boy could not tell whether the girl amused or 
intimidated Uncle Kars, or whether he had a 
secret liking for her, that he never refused her 
admission. When Gerda had put Frii Heitzen’s 
three children to bed, and washed the porridge 
bowls from the simple supper, she was at liber- 
ty to go to Uncle Kars until ten o’clock. 

Why his Uncle had ever brought him to 
Korsot was a problem to Lars. Was it that 
he expected real help in his business from Lars 
or that he wanted to secure the few rix dollars 
resulting from the sale of Frii Dagmar’s effects; 
or did he fear to refuse a dying woman’s re- 
quest ? “ I think it is that he wants you to be 
here in the house when he makes his trips,” said 
Gerda. “ He is afraid to leave the house alone. 
He knows you won’t rob him. He makes great 
pretense of being poor, but everybody knows 
he has piles of kronen.* Frii Heitzen says 
that he has been telling about Korsor that you 
are as wakeful as a weasel; that you are brave 
as a lion; that you can fire a pistol and hit what 
you aim at every time, just like an American.” 


* Crowns. 


48 


Frit Dagmars Son. 


“ If he wants me to be so brave, he should 
feed me better,” said Lars. “That’s the worst 
of all here, having nothing to eat. It makes 
you feel hollow round your waist, and dizzy 
in your head, and shaky in your legs. I get 
so starved sometimes I could eat the brindle 
cat if there was anything of her to eat but 
bones and skin. And I fancy the cat thinks 
just so about me. Anyway, I’m afraid to have 
her in my attic at night. She looks so rav- 
enous. I’m afraid she’d forget herself, and I’d 
wake up and find a piece of myself gone. She 
seems to like me, though, for I cannot help 
giving her some of my bread, she looks so 
dreadful out of her eyes.” 

It was Gerda who occasionally brought sup- 
plies in her incursions to Castle Famine. Gerda 
herself was not being abundantly fed. Frii 
Heitzen was a widow who lived rent free for the 
care she took of the house in which she occu- 
pied only the basement. Otherwise she made 
shirts for a living, and her table gave barely 
enough of porridge, cheese, rye-bread and dried 
fish, to maintain existence. But Gerda denied 
herself sometimes to slip a lump of cheese, or 
rye-bread or a part of herring, from her plate 
to her pocket for Lars ; and Lars when thus 
provisioned could not for the life of him resist 


Supplies to the Garrison . 49 

sharing with the unhappy feline, his companion 
in distress. 

Uncle Kars never allowed his nephew to go 
to Church nor to school. For the Church, he 
held, is waste of time, for the school, as Lars 
could read, write, and keep accounts well, Un- 
cle Kars held him abundantly educated. But 
Uncle Kars taught him English which he him- 
self could read and write, and also French, of 
which he knew enough for trading purposes. 
For weeks after Lars was brought into Castle 
Famine, he was not allowed to go out of the 
house, but finally Uncle Kars seemed to feel 
that his nephew would not rob him, nor tell the 
i ecrets of his prison, and then he permitted him 
to go every second day for bread to Frii Korner, 
the bakers wife. Lars was instructed to buy 
stale bread, and then Uncle Kars kept it a 
long time, often until it was hard as a .bone, or 
had uncanny green streaks in it. 

“ I don’t see what you live on,” said Frii 
Korner. “ Kars Barbe buys no more bread than 
he did before you came, and it was little enough 
then.” 

“ At least he gives me half,” said Lars, de- 
sirous that justice should be done even to Un- 
cle Kars. 

“ You look half starved and grow leaner all 


5o 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


the time,” said the good-wife, “ it goes against 
my grain to see a fine Danish boy defrauded 
of his just growth as you are.” Probably the 
eyes of Lars affected Frii Korner, as the eyes 
of the brindle cat affected Lars himself, for 
presently she began to give him stale rolls, or 
makeweight crusts, or even tarts or buns of a 
few days old, saying : “ Those are not to be 
seen by your uncle — they are for yourself.” 

Lars hid these gifts safely in the breast of 
his coat. He was now so despoiled of his plump 
proportions that he could put a good large bis- 
cuit in his jacket, and Uncle Kars never sus- 
pect it. Whatever Frii Korner gave him he 
scrupulously shared with the brindle cat. 

The only thing of which Uncle Kars was 
generous was water — of that he said, “ help 
yourself.” But when you come to toilet pur- 
poses; what is water, cold water, without soap ? 
“ Soap ! ” cried Uncle Kars, “ Soap is wasteful 
and dangerous ! Who knows of what foul 
poisonous fat soap may be made ! ” 

How he was to wash his clothes without 
soap, Lars could not tell, but that shrewd lit- 
tle demosel, Gerda, saw his dilemma, and helped 
him out of it by taking his change of clothes 
home with her each week, and washing them 
with Frii Heitzen’s family linen. Still* having 


Supplies to the Garrison . 5i 

his clothes washed would not bestow on Lars 
the blessing of a clean skin, and Frii Dagmar 
had taught him that cleanliness is next to god- 
liness. 

Lars sat up in his pallet one night meditating 
on these things. Frii Korner was giving him 
alms of bread. Gerda was denying her own 
appetite to keep him from hunger. The brin- 
dle cat was starving : he had no soap. Here 
was extremity. He took from his neck a little 
chamois skin bag, and trembling lest, two sto- 
ries below and also asleep, Uncle Kars should 
hear the click of coin, he told out the contents 
of that secret purse. He remembered when 
he received it. It was after Uncle Kars had 
come, and when his mother was dying. No 
doubt she foresaw the troubles of her child, 
and distrusted her brother. She gave to Lars 
this little bag, in which were three large gold 
pieces, a rix dollar, and two kronen. She bade 
him tie the Dag about his neck, never let his 
uncle see it, and use its contents only in a case 
of great need. 

Lars had asked Gerda to make him a larger 
bag from a piece of the homespun of her dress, 
and in that he had put the folded purple silk 
neck-kerchief with the pages cut from the 
family record hidden in the silken folds, and 


52 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


with the record lay the chamois skin bag of 
money* of which even Gerda knew nothing. 

Almost nightly Lars touched or kissed these 
relics, tears running over his cheeks ; it was 
like saying good-bye to his mother over again.! 
This night, Lars was questioning whether he 
ought not to use some of this money for his 
needs. Ought he to starve, to accept alms, to 
let the cat perish, to go without 'soap when he 
had these coins ? 

“ But then I must not spend all that I have on 
food — merely ” — said Lars betraying some of 
the Barbe prudence and self-restraint. “ There 
will be greater needs.” 

He decided to use the two kronen for pres- 
ent necessity. No doubt Frii Korner was to 
be trusted. Accordingly, next day he took the 
two kronen when he went to the baker’s shop. 
“ I ought not to beg when I have money,” he 
said, “ and this is my own, my mother gave it 
to me. I suppose being past thirteen I’m too 
big to cry, — but — I always cry when I think 
of my mother. I wish you’d keep the money, 
and give me stale rolls for it now and then — 
when I am very hungry — until it is all gone — 
only I must have enough out of it first to buy 
some soap. I hate to have dirty hands.” 

“ I’ll sell you the soap,” said Frii Korner, 


Supplies to the Garrison . 53 

taking down a large piece, “ and be sure I shall 
not tell that old rascal of a Kars Barbe what 
you have.” 

Lars was surprised at the size and cheapness 
of the rolls she gave him for his private sup- 
ply, and at the length of time which she said 
the two kronen would hold out. 

Spring came early that year. The air grew 
mild. Lars no longer shivered all day, for up 
in his attic the sun came in warmly. The lime 
trees put forth their buds, and on the branches 
the linnets, finches, thrush and black birds sang 
while, oh joy ! on the opposite roof a pair of 
storks came back to their nests on the chimney 
top. But there were no storks, Gerda told him, 
on Uncle Kars’ chimney. Uncle Kars’ den be- 
ing unsunned was as damp and chilly as ever, 
and each evening he lit the cupfull of fire, 
and sat and sipped his brandy, and watched the 
play of the two children. 

“ Sit down here in the big chair with me,” 
cried Gerda to Lars, and let us wrap this big 
saddle cloth over us to keep us warm, and I will 
tell you the story of Dagmar the Peerless, the 
best Queen of Denmark, and the best woman 
that ever lived in the world. Did you know 
your mother was named after Queen Dag- 

■j f) 

mar r 


54 Frii Dagmar s Son. 

“ Yes, and she was just as good as Queen 
Dagmar,” said Lars, stoutly. 

“ No doubt, said Gerda. “ When Dagmar 
the Peerless was a girl, she was Princess of 
Bohemia, and her fame for goodness and beauty 
went out over all the world. The King of the 
Danes heard of her and sent his lords to ask 
her to marry him. She came to Denmark and 
there was a great wedding, and the King put a 
gold crown covered with jewels on her head. 
Uncle Kars, don’t you wish you could find that 
crown now, and buy it cheap to sell it dear ? 
But Dagmar the Peerless loved the Danish 
people, and it made her miserable to see how 
cruelly the king treated them. Also the good 
bishop was shut up in prison, because he had 
told the king that he must treat the people bet- 
ter. I fancy the King of Denmark must have 
been like you, Uncle Kars, only younger and 
better dressed, and better looking. Well, one 
day, Dagmar came to the king, and gave him 
back her crown saying ‘ I cannot wear a crown , 
while my dear people are serfs, and the man of 
God lies in a dungeon.’ That made the king 
ashamed, and he said ‘ Keep your crown, peer- 
less Dagmar ; I will set the people and the 
bishop free/ On the whole, Uncle Kars, the 
king was not like you. He was a better man; 


Supplies to the Garrison . 55 

you would have kept the crown, and not have 
given it back for anything ! So the king's 
armies and the people had a great meeting, 
and it was all arranged ; the people were to be 
free as they have been ever since, and they 
were to farm what land they could pay for, 
and taxes were to be just, and every man’s 
house was to be his castle. When the mes- 
senger came to tell Queen Dagmar this, she 
met him with her harp, singing a beautiful 
hymn which she made. ‘ How beautiful are thy 
feet, oh thou that bringeth good tidings.’ ” 
‘‘She did not make that’’ said Lars, “she 
found it in her Bible. ‘ How beautiful upon the 
mountains are the feet of him who bringeth 
good tidings, who publisheth peace.’ ” 

“ But Dagmar was too good to live,” said 
Gerda. “Just as your mother was. She died, 
and left a little boy just like you, to have a 
great deal of trouble. The cause of the trouble 
was Benjerd the bad queen, whom the king 
married after Dagmar. When Dagmar died, 
all Denmark wept, but when Benjerd died all 
Denmark danced for joy. Uncle Kars, which 
will people do when you die ? ” 

“ Go to your nonsense play, and let me 
alone,” said Uncle Kars. 

But many thoughts had been striving in Lars’ 


56 


Frii Dagmars Son. 


mind for days, and he spoke out frankly. “ Un- 
cle Kars, what are you going to do with your 
money when you die ? ” 

“ What ! What ! ” cried Uncle Kars. 

“ You see/’ said Lars, remorselessly, “ you’ll 
have to die sometime, and you look very — old 
— and — little — and weakly. There was a man 
died in Praesto, and he had no children, and 
made no will, and all the money went to the 
king. The king is rich and does not need 
money ; you don’t want him to have yours, do 
you ? ” 

“You think I’d better leave it to you and 
Gerda, do you ! Y ou are calculating that you 
two little kites will get it, are you ! ” shrieked 
Uncle Kars, shaking with excitement. 

“ No, of course not,” said the matter-of-fact 
Lars. “ Why should we get it ? We never 
earned it. But you see, I was thinking. If 
you leave it without any will it seems the king 
gets it. If you will it to a Church or a Hos- 
pital, you don’t get any good of it. And you 
must leave it, you know, for it is written in the 
Bible : ‘We brought nothing into this world, 
and it is certain we can carry nothing out of 
it/ So then, Uncle Kars, why do you not 
get some good of it ? If you would have more 
fire and light and food, and a better bed, you 


Supplies to the Garrison . 57 

would feel more comfortable and you would 
live longer.” 

“Better bed!” cried Uncle Kars. “The 
Emperor of Prussia, William III.., slept on an 
iron bed like mine.” 

“ I’m certain sure it had a thicker mattress, 
and more covers,” said Lars. “ What I mean 
is, why don’t you spend your money on your 
own self, and on what you need, and not save 
it up for other people ? If you’d open this 
house, and have air and light in it, and have it 
clean, and a nice fire in the kitchen, and your 
dinner good and hot every day, you’d be ever 
so much more comfortable.’' 

“ I have hardly any money,” said Uncle 
Kars, “ and what I have I like better to lay up 
than waste it on eating and drinking.” 

“ As for drinking,” said Lars, “ you need not 
lay out money on that ; for cold water is the 
best of all drinks and don’t cost a penny ; but 
as for eating, folks weren’t made to live with- 
out it. There’s no good laying up money 
just for love of money, for in the Bible it says 
‘ there’s a sore evil under the sun, and that is 
money laid up by the owners of it for their 
hurt.’ Solomon said it.” 

“ Solomon didn’t know every thing,” said Un- 
cle Kars. 


58 


Fru Dagmar s Son. 


“ Don’t talk to him,’’ said Gerda to Lars, “ he 
won’t listen to you. Frii Heitzen says he’ll go 
on laying up kronen, until some night people 
come in and ’ murder him for his money, and 
carry off my bridal crown and your tea- 
spoons. Let us play about Freya and Bal- 
dur ! I’m Freya, and you are my son Baldur. 
They were Northland gods once. Baldur was 
killed by a little splinter. Now I am Freya 
going about to lay a spell on all things, that 
they will not harm you, all but the little ling 
bush, that I think too small to do any harm, but 
you are hit with it on the heel, and fall down 
dead. When you are dead you lie flat on 
these two chairs, and I will cover you up, and 
pretend it is the fire-ship, in which your body 
will float out to sea and be burned. Do you 
know, Lars, when we read in school the story 
of Baldur and the splinter of ling, our teacher 
said that was to show the power and danger 
that might be in little things. And she said 
when parents take the greatest care of their 
children to keep them from all danger, sometimes 
they neglect some little bad habit, that in the 
end will destroy the child. Come, it is time 
you were dead, and I’ll cover you with this 
cloth.” 

“ Let thatcloth alone! ” shouted Uncle Kars. 


Supplies to the Garrison. 


59 


“ It is worth hundreds of rix-dollars. It is per- 
haps a thousand years old. It was found under 
the foundations of a very old ruined German 
castle.’’ 

“ How do you suppose it came there? ” de- 
manded Gerda, looking at the ancient square 
of tarnished mildewed embroidery. 

“ I suppose the ladies of the castle went in- 
to the dungeons for safety from flying weapons, 
at a time of siege, and while there amused them- 
selves in sewing, woman fashion,” said Un- 
cle Kars. 

“ O, let’s play that ! ” said Gerda. “ Lars ! 
I’ll be the castle lady, and I’ll sit on the floor 
and work on this cloth. Get the brindle cat 
and roll her up, and lay her down here for my 
baby, and I’ll sing to her, and you climb up on 
the table, which is the castle wall, and flourish 
that long sword, and describe to me the ar- 
mies of enemies coming over the river, and up 
among the trees.” 

The next night, when Gerda came pounding f 
at the back door, Lars, indeed, as a beleaguered 
garrison, addressed her from the upper win- 
dow of Castle Famine 

“ You can’t get in, Gerda ; Uncle Kars went 
off early, to stay three or four days, and he has 


6o 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


carried the keys away, and locked up all so fast 
I would have to break the house down to open 
it. 7 ’ 

“ Suppose there is fire, or there are robbers ! ,J 
cried Gerda. 

“I’m not afraid of robbers/’ said Lars, “ and 
if there’s a fire I might perhaps climb down the 
lime-tree, without breaking my neck.” 

“ Have you anything to eat ? ” demanded 
Gerda. 

“ That’s the worst of it,” said Lars. “ He 
left only part of a loaf, and the cat and I were 
so hungry we have eaten it all up ! ” 

“ I’ll come up in my attic and talk to you 
through the window, in the morning,” said 
Gerda, cheerfully. 


CHAPTER IV. 


MY AUNT HENRIETTA IB. 


1 No other sound or stir of life was there , 

Except my steps in solitary clamber 

From flight to flight , from humid stair to stair , 

From chamber unto chamber 


The hungry Lars had not been long awake 
next morning when he heard a very cheerful 
“Hello-o!” and thrusting his head from the 
back window of the attic, lo the white cap, 
red cheeks and yellow pig-tails of Gerda, lean- 
ing from the corresponding window in the 
mansion of Frii Heitzen. The children were 
about ten feet apart. 

“ I’ve brought you some breakfast,” said 
Gerda. “ I know you’re starved.” 

Here the brindle cat thrust its shaggy head, 
long whiskers and green eyes out beside the 
handsome face of Lars, to watch the victualling 
of Castle Famine. 

Gerda had a long cane, upon the end of which 
she tied a meagre package done up in a cotton 


62 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


cloth. Then, both Lars and Gerda leaning from 
a window, the precious bundle came within 
reach of Lars’ hands. Two thick slices of rye 
bread made into a sandwich with some strips of 
fried pork — three or four cheese rinds for the 
cat, these were received with equal joy by boy 
and beast. 

“ Frii Heitzen was real cross about giving 
it to me,” said Gerda; “she said she had 
enough to do to feed her own young ones, and 
if Uncle Kars was starving you, I better go 
complain to the magistrate.” 

These remarks fell like gall or ashes on Lars’ 
breakfast. It was hard to eat the bread of 
grudged charity — and then Frii Heitzen was 
quite right! 

“But,” continued Gerda, “ I told her if she’d 
give it to me I’d work initials in cross-stitch 
for her to-day on HerremandThur’s towels, fas- 
ter than ever I did in my life.” 

“ Frii Heitzen is right,” said Lars, “ she can 
not afford to feed me; she is a poor widow. 
You can go and tell Frii Korner about it, and 
she will send me some bread.” 

“ Where’s your money ?” demanded Gerda. 

“ I needn’t send any,” said Lars, resolved to 
keep his secret from the nimble-tongued dam- 
sel. “ She will send me bread all the same.” 


My Aunt Henrietta 76. 63 

“ I’ll tell her when I go this evening for Frii 
Heitzen’s bread.” 

“ What did Uncle Kars say when he went 
away ? ” 

“ He told me to sleep in his room, and if any 
one came in to fire the pistol right at them. 
He took away all the matches, so I could not 
light a fire or the lantern. He said he’d be 
back in a few days, and not to waste the bread. 
But I didn’t sleep in his room, it is so cold and 
damp there. If any one did come in my firing 
the pistol would not do any good. If it went 
off at all it would no doubt go through some of 
Uncle Kars’ old pictures or mirrors, and I 
wouldn’t want it to go through a burglar ; I 
wouldn’t want to kill any one, would I ? It 
would be dreadful to make a man die in his sins, 
wouldn’t it ? And of course no one can get into 
the house. If it is locked up so fast I can’t get 
out, they can’t get in, can they ? ” 

“ What are you going to do all day ? ” asked 
Gerda. 

“ I’ve got some work,” said Lars. “ Uncle 
Kars says I must earn my clothes, so he has 
got me skate soles* to make. We went out 
yesterday and got a pattern, and the wood, and 

* The making of wooden skate soles is a Danish industry. 


64 


Frii Dagmars Son. 


a draw-knife. If I have some money I earn 
myself I can buy meat for me, and milk for the 
cat, as well as my clothes.” 

“ Uncle Kars will keep it all, every cent,” 
said Gerda. 

“ He wouldn’t be so wicked ! ” cried Lars. 

“ Yes, he would. I worked all day, knitting 
or towel fringing, and he kept every penny, 
and never got got me clothes or food. I’ll tell 
you, Lars. I’ll go get the towels I’m to work 
initials on, and the two children I’m to take 
care of, and I’ll sit in this window and work, 
and you sit in your window and we’ll talk. 
Won’t it be lots of fun ! ” 

Accordingly Gerda, and her heap of towels, 
and her little paper work box, soon occupied 
one attic window, and Lars, his pieces of wood 
and the brindle cat, the other. Careful mothers 
might have thought the pair dangerously 
placed, but fear never entered their heads. In- 
deed, Gerda said — “ I wonder if after tea I 
could creep along the lead pipe to your win- 
dow? I’m not afraid.” 

“ Don’t you try to do it,’’ said Lars. “ If 
you don’t say you won’t, I’ll shut the window 
and go down-stairs ! Creep along ! why a cat 
could scarcely do it. Do you want to be killed! ” 

“ I’d about as lief be killed as live the way I 


My Aunt Henrietta lb . 


65 


do,” said Gerda. “ Frii Heitzen is sometimes 
cross, and I must work and tend these children 
all the timed’ 

Here a couple of round, clean Danish child 
faces in little close, womanly caps peeped over 
Gerda’s window-sill at the brindle cat. 

“ I never had anything nice or pretty,” con- 
tinued Gerda, working cross-stitch vigorously. 
“ I would like some gold beads for my neck, a 
velvet bodice, silk petticoats, and nice morocco 
shoes in bronze or blue, not these horrid sabots. 
I want to learn to play the harp or piano, like 
the ladies in pictures. I want to have a coach 
and fine clothes, like the ladies I read of; I want 
to go to school and to travel, like the Herre- 
mand’s daughters. Oh, how I wish I lived with 
my Aunt Henrietta lb!” 

“ Where is your Aunt Henrietta lb ?” asked 
the sympathetic Lars. 

“ She lives in Copenhagen,” said Gerda. 
“ Every night when I go to bed I think about 
my Aunt Henrietta lb, and what a nice time I 
should have with her, she is so rich, and so nice.” 

“ You never told me about her before,” said 
Lars. 

“ Didn’t I ? That’s queer! I’ll tell you now 
then ! ” cried Gerda, with animation. “She is 
my great-aunt, you see, and an old lady, quite 


66 


Fru Dagmars Son . 


old. She has a grand house, all handsomely 
furnished with new things, no old musty things 
in it. She sold Uncle Kars all the old things. 
She has every window open to the sun. and has 
flowers growing in all the house, and plenty of 
servants, and five hot meals every day ! She 
never allows any beer or schnapps, but she has 
tea or coffee every meal, and lets everybody 
have all they want. She has fires in every 
room, and in the hall is a great china stove all 
painted in birds and flowers — Aunt Henrietta 
lb always- sits in the parlor, in a great, red, 
velvet chair. Her hair is white, and she wears 
glasses with gold rims, and always a satin gown 
that goes ‘ frou, frou, frou * when she moves. 
She has gold chains and rings, and beside her, 
on a cushion, lies a great, fat maltese cat; and 
at her feet, on another cushion, a fat, white, 
poodle dog, and the cat and dog never 
fight.” 

“ That is because they have enough to eat," 
said Lars, carving on a skate sole. 

“ Every one in my Aunt Henrietta lb s 
house is fat," continued Gerda, with growing 
enthusiasm, “ just as fat as they can be ! " 

“ Why don’t you go there and live ? ” de- 
manded Lars, much moved by this picture of a 
terrestrial paradise. 


My Aunt Henrietta lb. 


67 


“ I am going — sometime,” said Gerda, vague- 
ly. “ Aunt Henrietta lb is going to adopt me. 
Then I shall have all I want.” 

“ But why don’t you go now ? ” persisted 

Lars. 

“ Well — you see, Copenhagen is a long way 
off, and I haven’t any money — and — I’m going 
to wait until I am older — for my Aunt Henri- 
etta lb is old, and don’t like children very well. 
Besides, she thinks I ought to learn a great 
many things here with Frii Heitzen, that I 
couldn’t learn at her house. When I am at 
my Aunt Henrietta’s, I shall only learn to sing 
and play music and be a young lady.” 

“ I don’t see how she ever let you come 
here to Uncle Kars/’ said Lars with convic- 
tion. 

“ She didn’t know what a mean man he 
was,” said Gerda. 

“ Why didn’t you write and tell her?” in- 
sisted Lars. 

“ I didn't want to worry her, and I had no 
paper, and no stamps — and it will be all right 
by-and-by, when I go. Oh, it will be splendid 
then! I shall dress like the Herremand Thur’s 
eldest daughter, and when I go to church, a 
servant dressed in gilt buttons shall walk be- 
hind me, and carry my Bible done up in a silk 


68 


Frii Dctgmars Son. 


handkerchief! Every day I shall have roast 
meat and pudding, and cakes and rodgrod. 
Did you ever eat any rodgrod, Lars ? ” 

“ Once — at a wedding,” said Lars. 

“ Well, at Aunt Henrietta lbs they have it 
every day,” said Gerda, solemnly. “ Aunt 
Henrietta lb is as rich as the king.” 

“ I wish I had an Aunt Henrietta lb,” cried 
Lars, “ I’d go to her in a hurry, you’d better 
believe. I’d ask her to send me to school for 
a year or two, and get me work in an office, or 
a store in Copenhagen, and I’d promise her 
that I would do well, and pay her back all she 
had laid out for me.” 

“ When I go to live with my Aunt Henri- 
ette lb,” said Gerda, “ I will tell her about you, 
and perhaps she will send for you to go to 
Copenhagen, and will get you a place with a 
salary of a thousand rix-dollars ! ” 

“ A quarter of that would be all I’d want, 
and all I was worth,” observed Lars. 

Aunt Henrietta proved an inexhaustible 
theme. Gerda described her dress, her food, 
her house, her words, her ways, her dog and 
her cat, over and over again. This conversa- 
tion was interspersed with, “ Lars ! do you see 
what a lovely letter I have worked on this 
towel! Lars! I’ve finished another towel! 


My Aunt Henrietta lb. 69 

Lars, I shall get the whole dozen done to- 
day.” 

And from Lars: “ Gerda ! look at my skate 
sole ! Gerda, do you suppose the man will 
pay me for these? Gerda, is my skate sole 
pretty nearly as good as the pattern ? Sup- 
pose I make a thousand, would I have money 
enough to go to Copenhagen and get work, do 
you think ? ” 

“ Work away as hard as you like,” said the 
astute Gerda. “You will never see a stiver of 
the money you earn by those skate soles.” 

That night, just at dusk, Lars heard pebbles 
thrown against the front of his home, and the 
voice of Frii Korner, calling. He leaned from 
the front attic window. 

“ Drop me a cord,” said Frii Korner, “ and 
I will send you up a basket of food ! The idea 
of that old rascal leaving you alone for days, 
with only half a loaf. It is my duty to go to 
the magistrate and complain of him, and I’ll 
do it.” 

“ Don’t, don’t, please don’t, Frii Korner,” 
pleaded Lars. “Iam sure he does not mean 
to be very bad, and I have come to no harm 
yet. If the magistrate took me away, and 
bound me to a strange man, I might be much 
worse treated. I know of a man who used to 


70 Frii Dagmars Son . 

beat a boy he had. Besides, Uncle Kars is a 
Barbe, and it is my mother’s name, and I do 
not want to throw shame on it. Don’t say a 
word, Frii Korner.” 

Meanwhile the basket was drawn up by a 
rope Lars had let down, and now there were 
joyous cries, “ Oh Frii Korner, you have sent 
me hot bread soup ! Oh, Frii Korner, milk, for 
the cat ! Oh, a baked potato, and a turnip, oh 
oh!” 

Uncle Kars was gone four days, and Lars 
had a fine heap of skate soles finished when 
Uncle Kars unexpectedly walked into the attic. 
“ I was kept longer than I meant to be,” said 
Uncle Kars, looking greatly relieved to find 
Lars busy, and not in a state of inanition. But 
Lars, boy-like did not realize the danger that 
had been, the fears, nor the relief. 

“ I see — you have got on,” said Uncle Kars. 

“ Oh yes,” said Lars, cheerfully, “ and Gerda 
has sat in her window and told me all about 
her rich Aunt Flenrietta lb, who lives in 
Copenhagen.” 

“ Her rich Aunt Henrietta lb, who lives in 
Copenhagen!” repeated Uncle Kars, aston- 
ished, “she told you of her, did she! Well, 
come down and let us eat. I have brought 
home a large Strasberg pie and a bottle of 


My Aunt Henrietta lb. 71 

Danish mead.* Eat all you want,” said Uncle 
Kars, “it cost nothing. It was given to me 
by a man who wanted to borrow money.” 

After this, as the weather was now fine for 
travelling, Uncle Kars frequently went away 
for periods varying from two to ten days, leav- 
ing his nephew alone in the house. He never 
made further provision than a little rye bread 
for Lars’ sustenance, during these times when 
he was imprisoned alone. The two kronen 
left at the baker’s shop were soon exhausted, 
and then Lars found a new method for getting 
food. He let down out of the window to 
Gerda a dozen or so pairs of skate soles, and 
she, taking them to the shop, received a few 
pennies to buy bread and fish for Lars, which 
supplies she sent up on the rope on which the 
skate soles had come down. 

When Uncle Kars was at home, and as sum- 
mer grew warm, he allowed Lars to stay as 
much as he chose in a little grassy yard be- 
hind the house. In this yard grew two poplar- 
trees, and under them Lars made a bench, and 
there he worked at skate soles and basket 
making. Gerda would open the little gate in 
the high, wooden fence which divided Uncle 

* Honey mixed with water and called mead is a favorite 
Danish drink. 


7 2 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


Kars’ yard from that of Frii Heitzen, and she 
would sit in the gateway with her knitting, or 
cross-stitch, and Frii Heitzen’s children would 
thrust their fat, honest, little faces through the 
gateway, and hold discourse with Lars about 
the brindle cat. The children never ventured 
into Uncle Kars’ yard, they were afraid of him. 
But in the summer evenings Uncle Kars would 
bring out a chair, a little table, and his glass of 
brandy, and sit in the yard listening to Gerda’s 
talk with Lars, and her endless tales. Gerda 
masqueraded in all the old Scandinavian myths 
and characters. She was Loki, and Lars was 
Thor, and the poplar-trees were Jotuns, and a 
barrel was the giant Scrymer’s glove. She 
unbraided her yellow hair, and wrapped a 
sheet about her, and tore through the two 
yards, as a Valkyra, and generally prophesied 
Uncle Kars’ speedy death ! Kars was Esben 
Snare, building the miraculous church, and she 
was the Kobold Fyne’s wife, singing in the hill 
— the cave in the hill being represented by the 
barrel. Half a dozen capped heads of chil- 
dren, or even grown people, were generally 
thrust from the windows of adjoining houses, 
to watch the “ games of Gerda.” 

Meanwhile, Fru Heitzen enjoyed a gossip 
with her commeres on the front doorstep, hav- 


My Aunt Henrietta lb . 


73 


ing sent her hygienically brought-up children to 
bed at six o’clock. Often, however, the faces 
of the supposedly sleeping Heitzen trio orna- 
mented one of the windows, watching with 
breathless interest the race of Lars and Gerda, 
when Gerda, the fairy, had stolen some treasure 
from Lars, or when Lars, the knight, pursued 
the enchanted maiden to deliver her from a 
spell. 

Now, wearied by these plays, Lars and Ger- 
da returned to the bench under the poplars, 
and as the daylight faded they watched the tall, 
upright figures of the storks upon the roofs and 
Gerda discoursed of “ my rich, great- Aunt Hen- 
rietta lb, at Copenhagen.” 

“ My Aunt Henrietta is very generous,” 
said Gerda. “ She never refuses to give to 
any one who asks of her, and at Christmas she 
has a big tree which reaches to the ceiling of 
the room. It is covered with candles and bon- 
bons, with a Christ-child flying from the top, 
and Santa Claus standing at the bottom. On 
New-Year’s day she fills a great tub with pef- 
fer cakes, and another with nuts and apples, 
and invites all the poor children around to 
come in and help themselves. On her birth- 
day she gives every one in the house a gold 
piece. Also on her birthday, she has a big 


74 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


cake, with a candle on it for every year of her 
life, and her last cake had seventy-eight can- 
dles, for she is very old, and to hold so many 
candles it had to be nearly as big as a cart 
wheel. She gave all her friends a slice. She 
sent me a slice in a box, tied up, like wedding 
cake among rich folks. On the king’s birth- 
day my Aunt Henrietta lb goes to call on him, 
and takes him a bouquet, and she wears a red 
velvet gown with a train four yards long.” 

“ I don’t see why you don’t go and live with 
her! ” cried Lars. “ I’d walk there if I were 
you!” 

“ I am going — as soon as I am a year older,” 
said Gerda. “ She is the nicest woman in the 
world. Very different from you, Uncle Kars.” 

“ Yes, but very good all the same,” said Un- 
cle Kars ; “ she made me a present of this 
brandy.” 

“ She never! ” cried Gerda, shaking her fist 
at him. “ She hates all brandy and strong 
drink, and says it is the curse of the world. She 
hates you, too. She is just as not like you as 
she can be ! She is handsome and kind, and 
clean, and generous, and honest, and despises 
brandy, and feeds her cat and dog, and is fat ! ” 

At this tirade Uncle Kars sat chuckling for 
some time. 


My Aunt Henrietta lb. 


75 


“ Uncle Kars,” said his nephew, ingenuously, 
“ perhaps if you had not loved money and 
brandy so much, you might have been a good 
man ; sometimes you seem to be rather kind.” 

Emphasis should have certainly been laid on 
that “ sometimes ” and “ rather.” Before that 
summer ended here was the long count of Uncle 
Kars’ crimes, admitted in Lars’ mind: — Uncle 
Kars kept Lars at work on skate soles and 
baskets, for the purpose, as he said, of earning 
money for clothes, and then he took every penny 
of the boy's earnings, except that surreptitiously 
spent for food, and refused to buy him any 
clothes, although Lars was now bare-footed, and 
had but one shirt left. 

Again, Lars, hearing a noise late one night, 
crept softly down-stairs, and saw Uncle Kars 
privately feasting on bologna sausage, beer, 
cheese and white bread, when he had kept 
Lars for three days on mouldy bread that made 
him sick. 

Inquiry being one day made, no doubt at Frii 
Korner s instance, by the School Commissioner, 
whether Lars were not under fourteen, and so 
obliged to attend school, Lars heard his Uncle 
make solemn oath that the boy, though small 
of his age, was fifteen. 

A poor widow, coming with a chain to sell, 


76 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


Uncle Kars swore it was only brass, but out of 
charity he would give her a crown for it. When 
she was gone, the fiendish little man danced for 
joy, saying it was gold, and worth ten rix-dol- 
lars. Lars three times found Uncle Kars ly- 
ing on the floor, dead drunk. 

Naturally, Lars had neither respect nor affec- 
tion for Uncle Kars. “ I would run away,” 
said Lars to Gerda, “ I truly would, only my 
mother used to say that the place where God 
put us was very likely to be the place where in 
some way we could get the most good. And 
she always said boys who ran away generally 
came to a bad end. And I promised her I 
would try and stay with Uncle Kars and be 
good. I want to, truly I do. But it makes me 
cry at night to think how every thing goes, 
and how sad my mother would feel if she knew 
all about it. But they don’t know such things 
up in heaven, do they, Gerda? They perhaps 
only know that the end will be good.” 

“ Let us both run away ! ” cried Gerda. “I’ll 
go with you ! ” 

“ Then I surely won’t go,” said Lars, loftily. 
“The idea of a girl roaming up and down the 
country, like a beggar! And then, Frii Heitzen 
is Veal good to you. You stay with her till 
your Aunt Henrietta sends for you next spring.” 


My Aunt Henrietta lb . 


77 


But one day Lars and Gerda did run away. 
Uncle Kars was gone. Frii Heitzen and her 
children had gone to the country. Gerda, the 
astute, had discovered that Lars could climb 
out the scuttle-hole in the garret roof, by un- 
hooking the trap door from the inside. Then 
he could cross over to her roof, and descend 
through her house. She planned and prayed 
that he would so escape, and go and spend the 
day with her, playing in the beautiful beech 
woods. They would have a picnic. Fru 
Heitzen had left Gerda a good dinner of boiled 
pudding and white bread, buttered; she also had 
sixpence which she would spend; she had 
found it in the street. Lars could not resist. 
As soon as Frii Heitzen was gone, about seven 
in the morning, this blessed little pair ran off 
to the glorious, famous beech woods of Den- 
mark, and for twelve beautiful hours they were 
as happy as the angels. 

“ When I was little,” said Gerda, “ my 
Aunt Henrietta lb, took me for a trip to the 
‘ Mountain of Heaven,’ on the island of Jutland. 
We had cheese-cakes and cream, and roast- 
beef, but we didn’t have a bit nicer time than 
we have to-day ! ” 

They brought back moss, flowers, empty 
last-year’s nests, fallen birds’ feathers, snails’ 


78 


Frii Dagmars Son , 


shells, and the day of this escapade was as a 
fountain of new life to them, and stood forth 
in their memories in a golden haze of glory, 
making it seem longer, brighter and more joy- 
ous even than it really had been. 

“We’ll go again! ” cried Gerda. 

“ I think not,” said Lars. “ Someway it 
seemed not quite right. I think perhaps my 
mother would have said I had better not 

go-” 



CHAPTER V. 


THE EVACUATION OF “CASTLE FAMINE.’ 


“A gentle boy 

With moods of sadness and of mirth , 
Quick tears and sudden joy , 

Grew up beside the peasant's hearth 


The cold days of October came and found 
Lars still without the clothes he had been 
diligently striving to earn. 

One raw, frosty morning he went to Frii 
Korner’s for the stale rye loaf which represented 
household supplies at “ Castle Famine/’ Lars’ 
face was blue and pinched, he shivered in spite 
of himself, and had a loud, harsh cough. Frii 
Korner leaned over the counter and looked at 
his feet. 

“ Bare-footed this time of year! Where are 
your stockings and sabots ? ’’ 

“ I have none,” said Lars, turning crimson. 
“ My stockings are all worn out, and my sabots 
grew so old that one of them cracked in two 
pieces.” 


79 


8o 


Frii Dagmars Son. 


Frii Korner, reaching out a strong arm, drew 
him closer, and turned open the neck of his 
jacket. 

“ Nothing on but this old homespun suit ? 
No shirt ! Where is your shirt ?” 

“Gerdais washing and mending it. I have 
but one, and I had worn it two weeks,” mur- 
mured the abashed Lars. 

“ Well, of all things ! You’ll catch your death 
of cold ! ” 

“ I earned money all summer to buy clothes. 
I have worked as hard as I could at skate soles 
and baskets ! And Uncle Kars has kept the 
money,” cried the boy. 

“ Uncle Kars has me to reckon with,” said 
Frii Korner, pulling Lars into the kitchen 
sitting-room behind the shop, and placing him 
by the great, glowing stove. “ Now get warm, 
and eat this bowl of hot soup,” she said. “ That 
is a grave- yard cough you have, sure enough,” 
and going to the street she sent a passing boy 
to tell “ Kars Barbe that Frii Korner wanted 
to see him.” 

No sooner had the wizened, cringing figure of 
Kars appeared in the shop, than Frii Korner, 
irate, advanced upon him, threatening as a 
Valkyra. 

“ Kars Barbe, how do you dare starve and 


The Evacuation of “ Castle Famine .” 81 

freeze and rob a young boy, as you are doing ? 
Look at your nephew ! bare-footed and nearly 
naked, and half sick, and less than half fed. 
I wouldn’t have believed Denmark could pro- 
duce a man so mean, so miserly, so cruel, so 
vile, so contemptible.” 

“ Come, come, Frii,” interposed Uncle Kars, 
“ I have not yet asked for your opinion, nor for 
your interference.” 

“ All the same, Kars Barbe, you’ll get both. 
Unless you see to it at once that this boy has 
woolen socks and woolen underclothes, new 
sabots, a warm cap, mittens and a muffler, mind 
you, I’m going to take him, half naked and 
starved as he is, before the magistrate, and tell 
the tale, and ask if even Danish dogs are to be 
treated so outrageously, let alone the boys of 
Denmark ! ” 

“ I want no trouble with my neighbors, Fru,” 
remonstrated Uncle Kars. “ I intended — in 
time, to get him something.” 

“ The time is now, this hour: the something 
is what I have said. If you don’t, to the court I 
go, and if there is no law in Denmark to pro- 
tect your nephew, you shall see there is a law in 
public opinion, and Korsor will be too hot to 
hold you. The very boys on the street shall 
chase and hoot you, for a man who starves and 


82 Frii Dagmars Son. 

freezes his own flesh and blood. . Take your 
choice.” 

“ Well, well, Frii, the boy shall come along 
with me, and I’ll see about it.’’ 

“ He sha’n’t go one step ! What ! go back to 
that cold, dark house of yours, to lie ill of lung 
fever, and die like a beast ? I wonder his 
mother don’t haunt you ! I wonder Satan don’t 
come to carry you away in your hat and boots! 
No, Kars Barbe, the boy is to stay here, three 
or four days, until he is well ; meanwhile the 
clothes must be had at once. If he were sick 
at your house could doctor or friend visit him? 
I reckon not. What have you in your house, 
that you so fear for honest neighbors to see ? 
We had better come in a body and demand en- 
trance ! I wish we had American fashions here, 
that I have read of, where they take rascals 
like you and tar and feather them, and carry 
them about on a rail ! ” 

“ O come, come, Frii Korner,” said the terri- 
fied Uncle Kars, turning ashen pale, “ your hus- 
band and I were friends. We are friends, you 
and I, I am sure. Even if I am wrong, you 
would not wish to commit a wrong on your 
part ! So, you invite the boy for a visit — that 
is kind — and as to the clothes, how much will 
they cost ? ” 


The Evacuation of “ Castle Famine 83 

Fru Korner promptly named the price. 
Uncle Kars reluctantly drew out a leather 
purse, and told the required money upon the 
table — “ It is much, outrageous much, for a 
poor man to pay for charity,” he said, queru- 
lously. But here Lars stood up and spoke 
with indignation : 

“ It is not charity ! This summer I have 
earned, and you have taken of my earnings, all 
that is there, and one rix-dollar, two kronen, 
besides. I have kept my accounts, I know. 
You still have the dollar, two crowns in your 
purse ! ” 

“ He, he, he ! ” laughed Uncle Kars. “So 
you keep accounts do you, and know how to 
balance your books ? He ! he ! he ! he ! There 
is real Barbe blood in you ! Well, then, we’ll 
call the account square. You owe me the dol- 
lar and the crowns, for the food I have bought 
for you, to say nothing of the rent of the room, 
he ! he ! he ! ” 

But Frii Korner swept up the money, noth- 
ing placated. * 

“ Villain, robber of children,’’ she said. “ God 
will judge you and that speedily. Is it not 
written, ‘ A Father of the fatherless and a 
Judge of widows is God in His holy habi- 
tation ’? ” 


8 4 


Frii Dagmars Son. 


Uncle Kars went over to his nephew and 
whispered in his ear ! 

“ Boy, be sure you don’t tell Frii Korner a 
word about what is in my house. She will 
ask, women are curious, but mind you do not 
talk about my affairs.” 

“All right,” said Lars, calmly, “ your affairs 
are your own.” 

And Uncle Kars, who had not a particle of 
honor in him, went away relying on the honor 
of his nephew. • 

For a blessed week Lars stayed with Frii 
Korner. He was kept warm and well fed, he 
wore the new clothes, and he luxuriated in nice, 
hot baths. He seemed to himself to be living 
in Paradise. His cough disappeared, and his 
thin, pale cheeks began to redden and fill out, 
for Lars was of a robust constitution, and 
readily rebounded from ill treatment. 

But Frii Korner could not keep him indefi- 
nitely; he returned to “Castle Famine,” to the 
joy of Gerda, whose evenings, open to no 
pleasure but jibing and threatening Uncle Kars 
with ill omens, had grown tedious. Now, when 
it was too cold to play games, Lars and Gerda 
sat down by Uncle Kars’ starveling fire, 
wrapped themselves in a great woolen curtain, 
that had pn ce hung behind the pulpit pf 


The Evacuation of “ Castle Famine 85 

a church, and Gerda’s incessant talk flowed 
on. 

Until she was eight, Gerda had lived in Co- 
penhagen, where her father, Nicolas Palle, had 
been a ship’s carpenter. For a year after that, 
when her father was dead, she and her mother 
had lived in Jutland. Thus Gerda had travelled 
more, and had seen more of the world than 
Lars. 

Lars enjoyed her descriptions of Copenhagen 
more than he did her fairy stories. She told 
him of the museums full of curious and beauti- 
ful things ; of the art galleries where were long 
lines of “ men, women, beasts and angels, all 
made out of white stone,” and walls lined with 
pictures where you “ could see kings, queens, 
palaces, oceans, mountain peaks, just as plain 
as really true ones.” She told him of stores 
so great that all the shops of Korsor could be 
put into one ; of grand churches where carved 
roofs shook with the volume of music poured 
from grand organs, on the tops of which “ brass 
boys blew brass trumpets.” She described the 
long lines of docks, the ships from many 
lands, the tumult of labor in the street, the 
throngs of people, the blazing lights at night. 

“ I shall see all these things, every day, 
when I go to live with my Aunt Henrietta lb,’’ 


86 


Fru Dagmars Son . 


Gerda would say, in conclusion of every ani- 
mated description. 

The human providence of Lars’ life was this 
red-cheeked, yellow-haired Gerda. She mended 
and washed his clothes, brought him elder tea, 
hot and sweet, when he took cold in the damp, 
chilly house, and when the Froken Thure gave 
her at Christmas a whole crown when she 
took home their new linen, neatly made by Frii 
Heitzen, Gerda, pining for so many things for 
herself, made Lars a Christmas and a New 
Y ear’s feast of rye cake and sausage, and laid 
by a few pennies to lay out for him in baked 
potatoes, to help tide over some unusually cold 
days. 

“ How long are you going to stay here like 
this ? ” asked Gerda of Lars, “ without food, 
fire, bed, clothes? Frii Heitzen says the 
wicked people in prison have much more com- 
fort than you do. She says if you live here 
very long, you will either die of misery or grow 
up to be just like Uncle Kars.’’ 

“ I’d rather die fifty times, than be like 
Uncle Kars,” said the boy. “ I wouldn’t at all 
mind dying. Then I could go and be with my 
mother, you know, and wouldn’t any boy rather 
be with his mother ? ” 

“ Well, I want to live, and see and know 


The Evacuation of “ Castle Famine 87 

and do what is in this world,” said the ener- 
getic Gerda, “ and after that I’ll go be with my 
mother.” 

But the winter wore away, and Lars had 
been nearly a year with Uncle Kars, and was 
now past fourteen. Matters did not grow 
better, but rather worse, if possible, and Lars, 
who had matured rapidly in his long, lonely 
hours, began to look his future carefully in the 
face. What would become of his manhood if 
his boyhood continued thus dwarfed and 
meagre ? What opportunities in life were 
likely to open to him ? Would his mother 
have wished him to live on in this wretched 
fashion ? Had she not been ambitious for 
him ? Had she not rejoiced in his quickness 
at his books, and forecast the time when he 
should bring back his fallen family fortunes to 
the estate of Herremand which had been theirs 
three generations before ? And Lars felt that 
in spite of cold, starvation, misery, he had 
reaped a rich harvest in Uncle Kars’ house, in 
having learned to speak and write fairly well in 
English, and to write and read fairly well in 
French. What Uncle Kars’ plans had been in 
teaching him these two languages he did not 
know, but he rejoiced in their possession, as 
one who findeth great spoil. His mother 


88 


Frit Dagmars Son . 


would have been glad of that, he knew. But 
watching the ungodly old miser and brandy- 
tippler, Lars felt sure that he was not the man 
with whom his dead mother would have wished 
to cast the life of her child. He had obeyed 
her will to the letter for a year, it was now 
time to obey it to the spirit. One day he said 
to Gerda : 

“ Gerda, I can’t stand it here. As soon as 
the weather is better, I mean to run away to 
Copenhagen, and find work. I shall go some- 
time when Uncle Kars is off for a trip. Don’t 
you suppose if I went to your Aunt Henrietta 
lb she would tell me of some place where I 
could get work ? I am willing to do anything. 
I can write. I know three languages. Now 
and then I pick up old papers that Uncle Kars 
brings home, and I see advertisements for 
clerks who know French or English and can 
write a good hand. No doubt I could get a 
big salary, and in a few years I should be a 
rich man.” 

Gerda gazed at Lars with her mouth open, 
and round, astonished eyes. The brilliancy of 
this proposal fairly dazzled her. 

“ I’ll go with you! ’’ she exclaimed. “ How 
will you go ? ” 

“ I shall walk/’ said Lars, “ and it will take 


The Evacuation of “ Castle Famine .” 89 

many days, and I shall have to sleep at night 
in outbuildings and haystacks. You cannot 
go with me. It is not fit for a girl to do such 
things. Besides, there is no need for you to 
go ; you are well treated.” Then, seeing tears 
coming into Gerda’s round, blue eyes, he 
added: “ But I’ll tell your Aunt Henrietta lb 
all about you, and how pretty you are, and 
how hard you have to work, and she will send 
for you at once. She will send money for 
your ticket. 7 ’ 

“ Let me go with you,” said Gerda, coaxing- 
ly. “ I’ve travelled so much more than you 
have, and I’ve been in Copenhagen, and oh, 
we would have such a jolly walk! We’d play 
tag all along the roadside, and we’d pick 
flowers all day.” 

“ No,” said Lars, firmly. “ I’ll stay here my- 
self rather than have you go that way. But 
I’ll carry a letter from you to your Aunt Hen- 
rietta lb, and I’ll speak for you just the best I 
can.” 

This projected expedition was the staple of 
conversation after that. It beguiled many a 
dreary, chilly hour, and Uncle Kars, when the 
children would put their heads under the great 
curtain which wrapped them, would say testily: 
“ Why don’t you talk out loud ? Why do you 


90 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


whisper. I want to hear you.” One evening 
when Uncle Kars, after a sip of brandy, said 
this, Lars put his head boldly from the shelter- 
ing curtain, and said, “ Uncle, I just told Ger- 
da that perhaps you did not know what is said 
in the Bible — and if you did you would be very 
different — and — and I should tell you.” 

“ And I told him,” said the shrewd Gerda, 
bending forward her rosy moon of a face, “that 
you liked to be just as you are, and no doubt 
you had heard all he ever has of the Bible, and 
don’t care to follow it. Say, weren’t you con- 
firmed when you were a boy, like all Luther- 
ans ? ” 

“ Stuff and nonsense ! what good did that 
ever do me ? ’’ 

“Not much,” said Gerda, “evidently — but 
then it ought to.” 

“ Uncle Kars,” said his nephew, “ God says 
in the Bible to keep the Sabbath day holy. Y ou 
treat Sabbath like any day — you work Sab- 
bath — you wanted me to make baskets.” 

“ I don’t believe in wasting good time ; Sun- 
day has as many hours as any day, and they 
ought to be used.” 

“ So they ought— in getting to heaven,” 
said Lars. “ Mother said the Sabbaths were 
golden stairs on which we should climb toward 


The Evacuation of “ Castle Famine 91 

God. Then, Uncle Kars, the Bible says ‘ Do 
good and lend, hoping for nothing again.’ It 
says, ‘ Give to him that asketh of thee and from 
him that would borrow of thee turn not away.’ ” 
“ No more I will,” chuckled Uncle Kars, 
“ if he offers a good rate of interest with a well- 
secured principal, I’ll lend every time.” 

“ That big interest is usury, and the Bible 
says to ‘ Leave off usury ’ and ‘ thou shalt not 
be a usurer.’ Did you know that ? It al- 
so says to do good to all men, as you have op- 
portunity. And it says, ‘ No drunkard shall en- 
ter the kingdom of God.’ Uncle Kars, had you 
not rather live just as the Bible tells you, and 
be sure of the kingdom of God, than to live as 
you do, and be cast out of that kingdom ? ” 
“ You were born for a priest,” said Uncle 
Kars; “ you must earn money for a gown and 
a ruff, and that is all you need to fit you for a 
pulpit. Since when did boys begin to teach 
their elders ? Don’t you suppose I can read, 
and find out what is in the Bible for myself? 
The fact is, I don’t care for it, and I don’t be- 
lieve in it. Every man for himself, and let 
every man make what he can in this world.” 

“ This world don’t last forever,” said Lars. 
“ See how soon my father and mother, and 
Gerda’s father and mother went out of it.’’ 


92 


Fru Dagmars Son. 


“ You’ll get out of it soon, too,” said Gerda. 
“ There was a coffin in my candle last night, 
and it flew off right toward this house; I’m sure 
it meant you, Uncle Kars.” 

“ Trash! ” said Uncle Kars, “ why can’t you 
talk of something amusing ? ” 

“ There was a man up in Jutland,” began 
Gerda, “ who had on his farm a great fairy ring, 
and he respected it, and never let the plow- 
share cross it, nor the cattle graze on it, and he 
set a bowl of milk in it every night, for the 
fairies. Well, one midsummer eve, as he was 
going home, he saw the earth open in the ring, 
and stairs leading down to a place full of light. 
He could not resist going in, and there the elves 
were dancing. They treated him very" nicely, 
and when he wished to go home each one 
gave him a stone. He took the stones, out of 
politeness, for they were heavy to carry. When 
he got home he found he had been gone fifty 
years ; all his family and friends were dead, 
and he was an old man, but the load of stones 
he had brought turned out to be gold.” 

“ He was in luck,” said Uncle Kars. “ Gold, 
was it ? ” 

“ He was in bad luck, 7 ’ cried Lars ; “ every 
one he cared for dead, his strength gone, him- 
self old, what good was gold to him ? ” 


The Evacuation of “ Castle Famine .” 93 

The days went on, and still Lars’ purpose 
grew, and he and Gerda talked of his flight to 
Copenhagen and how Aunt Henrietta would 
receive him, and soon Gerda should be sent 
for, and, like people in the fairy tale, “ they 
should live happy ever after.” Gerda seemed 
as content with her lot of waiting as if she 
had been brought up on the theory : “for 
men must work and women must weep.” 

Lars determined to tell no one of his project. 
Even good Frii Korner must not know it. 
She might think the proposed remedy worse 
than the disease, and feel it to be her duty to 
frustrate his intentions. He meant to write her 
a letter which Gerda should deliver when he 
was gone. Privately, he meant to use his rix- 
dollar for food on the journey, and reach Copen- 
hagen with the three gold pieces in the chamois 
skin bag ; but of this private fortune Gerda 
knew nothing. Had not Frii Dagmar told her 
son to let no one know of that fund ? 

The plan of flight was very simple. Gerda 
was to see that Lars’ clothes were clean and 
well mended, and she was to take some skate 
soles to the shop and get a sixpence to lay out 
in rye rolls and sausage for the first stage of 
the journey. Uncle Kars sold all the work 
finished while he was at home, but Gerda and 


94 


Fru Dagmars Son . 


Lars outgeneraled him by sending a neat bas- 
ket of soles over from Lars’ attic to Gerda’s 
attic on a rope. 

Uncle Kars’ first spring trip was awaited 
with eagerness. Then Lars was to get out of 
the garret scuttle-door, and cross from his house 
to Gerda’s, and Gerda would let him out to the 
street. The flight was to be at night, so that 
Uncle Kars should not learn which direction 
Lars had taken. 

Gerda .carefully questioned Lars as to his 
fear of ghosts, or “ dopple-gangers,” and was 
assured that he believed in none of the bodiless 
gentry. 

“ I do,” said Gerda, firmly, “and make up 
your mind, Lars, you will when you have seen 
one. You will see a dopple-ganger, but re- 
member they are for good luck. Just follow 
where a dopple-ganger leads, without ques- 
tioning him, and he will bring you good fortune.” 

Finally, Uncle Kars was gone. At ten 
Lars was to begin his journey into the world. 
Gerda waited for him. She waited on the stairs 
of her home, Frii Heitzen and her children 
sleeping tranquilly in their room. The moon- 
light rifted into a window high up, and fell 
over the little dark figure on the stair. Ten, 
eleven, twelve, one — and Lars did not come! 


The Evacuation of “ Castle Famine .” 95 

Gerda was furious. Was he afraid ? Was he 
asleep ? Had he rolled from the roof into the 
street ? Gerda could not have recourse to 
the attic window, for Fru Heitzen conscientiously 
locked every door in the house at night and 
put the keys under her pillow. There was 
no door to the garret from the ladder- like stair, 
but it was of no use for Gerda to go to the gar- 
ret, for she could not raise the scuttle — she was 
too short. She had done all she could do, when, 
standing on a barrel, she had unhooked the 
scuttle so Lars could get in when he came. 

It was ten next day before Gerda could get 
up to her attic to interview the prisoner in the 
next house. 

“ Lars ! ” she called mournfully, “ are 'you 
dead in there ? ” and as Lars’ head came forth 
into the morning sunshine, she changed her 
tone to scorn and rage, “ Did you over-sleep, 
stupid ? Did you forget, you goose ? Did 
you feel afraid at the last, you silly ? ” 

“ No, indeed,” said Lars, “ but Satan must 
have got in Uncle Kars, or a bird must have 
told him, for I found the scuttle of this house 
held down with a big bar of iron, with a pad- 
lock as big as my hand.” 

“ I know, I know ! ” cried Gerda. “ I heard 
Fru Heitzen and her commeres telling how it 


96 


Frii Dagmars Son. 


was in the papers, that robbers in Copenhagen 
had come down through a scuttle, and mur- 
dered a rich miser and taken all his treasures. 
Uncle Kars has seen it, and has been afraid. 
What will you do ? Give it up ? ” 

“ No,” said Lars, “ I am going to-night. 
The moonlight is very bright, almost like day, 
at ten. I shall climb down by the lime tree 
near my front window. I have looked, and I 
feel sure I can swing myself into it safely.” 

“ Oh, you will fall and be killed, dear, brave 
Lars,” sobbed Gerda. 

“No. I am not afraid. I can do it safely. 
But if I am killed, all right, I shall go to my 
mother, and I want to see my mother.” 


CHAPTER VI. 


LARS MATERIALIZES A GHOST. 


“ He had never a penny left in his purse y 
Never a penny left but three , 

And one was brass , and one was lead , ’ 
And the other , it was white money N 


Lars and Gerda said “ good-bye ” and kissed 
hands to each other from the attic window. 
Gerda sent her love to her Aunt Henrietta lb, 
and Lars gave Gerda a letter for Frii Korner. 
About ten o’clock Lars made ready to evacuate 
“ Castle Famine.” He brought up a large bronze 
truncheon, and a thick silk sash from the room 
below. Tying the sash firmly to the trun- 
cheon, he laid that across the attic window. 
The lime-tree was so near that its outmost 
twigs touched the house, and Lars meant to 
take firm hold of the knotted sash, drop off, 
push with his feet against the wall, and so 
swing himself among the thicker branches of 
the tree that would bear his weight as he de- 
scended to the ground. 


97 


98 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


His little bundle of food and a change of 
clothes was tied about his neck, and he had just 
seated himself astride the window-sill, measur- 
ing the space with his eye, when the brindle 
cat came up and began a pitiful outcry. The 
creature seemed to feel that Lars w r as depart- 
ing forever, and that with him went her last 
hope of food or friendship. Lars felt his pity 
stirred ; he and the cat had been fellow cap- 
tives for some thirteen months ! If he left her, 
Uncle Kars might be gone indefinitely, and the 
beast would starve. He felt that he would 
hear her piteous “ miaules ” as long as he lived. 
He picked up the lean cat and buttoned her 
inside his jacket. The creature was perfectly 
quiet. She seemed to feel that her part in the 
adventure was passivity. 

The jacket Lars wore was the same in 
which he had come to Korsor. His mother 
had spun the thread, woven the cloth, and 
made the garment. Danish women still pursue 
these homely industries. If his mother had 
lived the jacket would no doubt have been out- 
grown long before, but Uncle Kars fed his 
adopted son so sparsely that the jacket seemed 
to get bigger and bigger all the time. It was 
now large enough for both Lars and the brin- 
dle cat. 


Lars Materializes a Ghost . 99 

The cat disposed of, Lars swung off from 
the window seat, and thrusting with his feet 
from the wall spun out toward the tree. Hap- 
pily for his perilous venture, at the very first 
he swung among the thick branches, and 
clasping his legs about one, he let go the 
scarf with one hand, and seized upon a second 
branch and so drew himself into the tree. 
He felt weak and dizzy, and resting in the tree 
he at once released the cat. After a moment 
or two he took breath, and began to climb to 
the ground. The cat followed his example and 
reached the walk first. It was rather a long 
slide down the trunk from the lowest limb, but 
Lars found a projection or two. and so got 
down. 

He had his sabots tied about his neck. One 
cannot climb in wooden shoes. He sat on 
Gerda’s step to put them on. He felt just a 
little disappointed that Gerda did not softly 
draw the bolt, open the door, and say “good- 
bye ” once more. But all Fru Heitzen s house, 
indeed all quiet and orderly Korsor, seemed 
asleep, and it was now eleven o’clock. 

With the brindle cat at his heels Lars began 
his pilgrim way. From much imprisonment 
and fasting he was weak, and could go but 
slowly. Gerda had carefully described to him 


IOO 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


the course he should take to get upon the 
road leading in the general direction of Copen- 
hagen. The big town pump was to be his 
point of departure. Lifting the handle, he 
should go exactly where the handle, like an in- 
dex finger, pointed. Lars reached the pump, 
but still trembling from his climb, he sat down 
on the big water-trough to rest. He took a 
deep draught of water, and then ate a roll and 
some sausage. The fresh outer air had greatly 
aggravated his appetite, and what boy is provi- 
dent for future meals when present hunger 
presses ? The brindle cat rested its big lean 
head on Lars’ knee, and fared sumptuously 
with him. Hunger banished for the nonce, 
Lars sat still on the end of the huge stone 
water-trough. The moon, almost at full, 
marched through a blue and cloudless sky, and 
the water, welling to the stone brim, shone as 
limpid silver. The solemn silence of the hour 
awed and comforted Lars. The prison of 
Uncle Barbe was now out of sight, the long 
draughts of pure air filled his lungs and set his 
blood to circulating with new vigor. All the 
world took the sudden splendor which the 
moon lent to the streets and houses of sleeping 
Korsor. Copenhagen seemed not far away, 
and the road thither straight and easy ; friends 


Lars Materializes a Ghost . 


IOI 


and work seemed assured ; Aunt Henrietta lb 
seemed to smile a welcome to him, as she 
sat by her fire, her white dog at her feet, and 
her grey cat at her side. Manhood seemed 
not far away, when the little fugitive of the 
night should be all that was worthiest of Frii 
Dagmar’s son. The poet, the philosopher 
within the boy were aroused ; his hands resting 
on his lap, his small bundle at his feet, he gave 
himself up to contemplation. The peace of 
the world, the glory of the sky, uplifted him. 
How short seemed human troubles, how grand 
the eternal ages — that timeless time, that joy- 
ful activity that must lie outside of this world, 
where we come as swallows flying through 
their little arc of space, and are gone ! How 
debased and loathsome seemed the appetites 
and aims of Uncle Kars! The ants that had 
built their hills between the paving stones, the 
night insects wheeling about his head, seemed 
far nobler than Uncle Kars, because they were 
pursuing their proper destiny and Uncle Kars 
had sunk so far below his. 

Meanwhile the brindle cat also felt the joys 
of freedom, of outer air, of moonlight. The 
cat promenaded with soft, cautious steps round 
and round the stone rim of the trough, then 
scaled the pump, and, sitting erect on the top, 


102 Frii Dagmars Son. 

made a long silhouette of itself on the moonlit 
pavement. Then it came down, and, drawing 
its feet together, arched its back, erected its 
tail and stretched all its emaciated muscles. 
Climbing then to Lars’ knee, it rested against 
his breast, and purred the gamut of its content, 
as in Uncle Kars’ house it had mewed the 
gamut of its woes. 

The town clock of Korsor struck twelve. 

Lars sprung up. Why was he idling here, 
while the handle of the pump relentlessly 
pointed out the road to Copenhagen ? 

Away then ! One more drink from the town 
pump, and good-bye to Korsor. The town 
pump was no prophet, and foretold him noth- 
ing of the strangeness of his return thither. 
Away, away ! His little bundle in his hand, 
the brindle cat at his heels, Frii Dagmars son 
goes out to seek his fortune. Like Whitting- 
ton, he has a cat. The night was mild ; the 
air was soft; this first of April was more like 
June ; the low hum of insects was in the air ; 
already the frogs and tree-toads croaked and 
called, and there was a delicate, illusive scent 
of fresh-turned earth and growing things. 
Lars, who had lived much out of doors until 
immured in Castle Famine, felt his soul re- 
vive. He whistled as he marched along. He 


Lars Materializes a Ghost . 103 

had not whistled before since his mother 
died ! 

On he went, the road was dry, straight and 
deserted, trees and bushes had as yet their 
beauty of branch and twig little blurred by 
leafage. There was nothing to break the 
monotony of the trip, and as Lars tramped 
along and went beyond the sound of the town 
clock of Korsor, he felt as if he had been 
travelling a long long time, and before he 
had been walking an hour wondered which 
way was east, and where the sun would rise. 
Also he was weak from long privation and in- 
action, and while his aching legs, and loudly 
beating heart made him think he was going 
very fast, he was after all making but small 
progress. The long shadows cast by the de- 
scending moon, the distant cry of owl or howl 
of dog, gave Lars a lonely, eerie feeling, and 
he began to think of the stories told by Gerda, 
and her hints of ghosts and kobolds and bogies 
and dopple-gangers. He renewed his whistle 
at its loudest, and presently, as if evoked by 
the throstle-shrill notes, a figure released it- 
self from the shadows of a clump of bushes, 
and flitted up the road before him. The dop- 
ple-ganger, sure enough ! Slim, dark, about his 
own height, carrying a bundle, going his own 


104 Frii Dagmars Son. 

way — on, on, the dopple-ganger ! But Gerda 
had said you must not talk to a dopple-ganger, 
nor challenge its intent. Lars hesitated an in- 
stant. But then he was going to Copenhagen, 
he and his cat, and he would not be stopped 
by a dopple-ganger, which might be going 
there or elsewhere. The road was wide enough 
for them both, and long enough. So on, on 
for a mile or more — the same distance between 
them, went Lars Waldsen — and his dopple- 
ganger. Then the distance began to decrease 
by slow degrees, and by the next mile surely 
they were within hailing distance, and Lars had 
lost that “ creepy ” feeling of the first encounter. 
He hailed boldly — “ I say ! Who are you ? ” 
No answer. A dopple-ganger is alway speech- 
less. Frii Dagmars son having a “ good con- 
science toward all men,” did not walk on the 
same side of the road as Fear, and he hailed 
sturdily again. “ I say ! Where are you go- 
ing ? ” Then, as silence still prevailed, two or 
three quick strides put him near enough to the 
dopple-ganger to see in its lines and move- 
ments something amazingly familiar. He 
sprang on and seized it by the shoulders. “ I 
believe you are Gerda !” 

Then a clear laugh rang out on the night. 

“ Mew ! mew ! miew-ou-ou-ou,” said the brin- 


Lars Materializes a Ghost . io5 

die cat, rubbing against Gerda’s ankles and 
mindful of past favors in the food line. 

“ Did you think I was goose enough to 
give up, and stay behind ? ” demanded Gerda. 
‘‘ I started before you did ! I am sick of Kor- 
sor, and Frii Heitzen, and my work. 1 bought 
me some rolls, and made up my bundle, and 
slid out of the house at seven, when the Fru 
sent me to bed. Say you are glad I came, 
Lars.” 

“ No, I won’t ! ” said Lars. “ I’m sorry. It 
is all wrong. I shall take you back home, and 
give it all up.” 

“ Good-bye then ; if you’re goingback, you 
won’t get me to go with you,” said Gerda. 
“ I’m bound for my Aunt Henrietta lb. And 
what will you do in Korsor without me ? ” 

What indeed ? They stood gazing at each 
other. The moon hung low in the horizon. 

“ There’s a mile-stone ahead there,” said 
Gerda; “ let us run to it as fast as we can, and 
see what it says. Who gets there first ! ” 

Away they went in a headlong race, pursued 
by the cat. 

“ 5 M. to Korsor,” said the stone. 

“ I see a little grey line over there,” said 
Gerda. “ That is east. A yellowish line — it 
must be three in the morning. Come on, boy ! 


106 Frii Dagmars Son . 

Copenhagen cannot be far off. Let us go to 
my rich great-aunt Henrietta lb.” 

“ Won’t you go back ? ” demanded Lars. 

“ Indeed I won’t,” retorted Gerda. 

“Come on then ! My mother always told me 
girls were master hands to get their own way, 
and I think they must be. Shall I carry your 
bundle ? ” 

“ No/’ said Gerda ; “ I’m taking this journey 
on my own account, ’’ and she walked on a little 
in advance of Lars, and with her nose in the 
air, to indicate her independence. But by the 
next mile, the walk, the raw air of early dawn, 
and their fasting, began to tell on these chil- 
dren. Their steps lagged. Finally they came 
to a small shed, whereof the door was half 
open, showing straw within. Gerda proposed 
to go in there and rest, until the sun was high 
enough to warm them. Lars explored the 
shed, and found there a pile of straw, and four 
or five sheep. Accordingly, he and Gerda 
climbed up on the straw, covered themselves 
well, and almost instantly fell asleep, with the 
brindle cat snugly ensconced between them. 

When they awoke, the sun was high and the 
sheep had left the shed and were nibbling at 
the short pasture round about. The adventurers 
sat up on the straw, ate each a rye roll, and 


Lars Materializes a Ghost . 107 

once more set out on their trip. At first they 
made good time ; but soon moved more slowly, 
and the cat, instead of following cheerily, mewed 
and cried to be carried on Lars’ shoulder. 

“I say, Lars,” said Gerda, “ we can’t take the 
cat to Copenhagen ; she’ll quarrel with Aunt 
Henriettas poodle-dog, and may not like her 
grey cat. Besides, we can’t carry her, and you 
see she won’t walk. She needs milk too, and we 
have none to give her. Don’t you think she 
would enjoy living in the country ? I believe 
she’d like a barn.” 

Lars meditated. “ I think the first nice, kind- 
looking Parcelist wife we see, I’ll ask her if she 
will let me leave my cat with her.” 

Now a Parcelist is a Dane who rents or 
owns twenty-five or thirty acres of land, keeps 
from four to eight cows and a few sheep, has 
barns and garden, and is generally a very 
comfortable and thriving personage. 

Lars and Gerda had not wandered much 
further, when they saw the substantial home 
of a Parcelist, and in the yard the Parcelist’s* 
wife, with a child clinging to her big blue apron, 
and surrounded by over a hundred fowls, which 
she was feeding ; a fine red cow stood near, 
with a young calf at her side, and the child, 
reaching up, fondled the call’s wet black nose. 


io8 Fru Dagmars Son. 

It was a pretty picture of rural peace and com- 
fort, and as the housewife talked to her poultry, 
and flung grain to them with a liberal hand, 
Lars and his cat and his cousin marched boldly 
up to her. 

“ Fru,” said Lars, with a low bow, “ would 
you like a good cat ? ” 

“ Save us all ! ” cried the dame ; “ as if cats 
were not plenty ! Is this a new trade, cat sell- 
ing ? Who are you ? I never saw either of you 
before ? Where do you come from ? v 

Gerda, aware of Lars’ positive habit of speak- 
ing the truth, the whole truth and nothing but 
the truth, on all occasions, hastened to interpose. 

“ Frii, we are cousins; our parents are all 
dead, and we are going to Copenhagen, to live 
with Aunt Henrietta lb.” 

“ I am going to get work,’’ said Lars. “ I 
can speak English.’’ 

“ English, can you ? Ah, you are well 
learned for your years ! But how are you go- 
ing to get to Copenhagen ? It is right far.” 

“ Not so far,” said Gerda, “ and we are strong, 
and not afraid. We had no money for fares, 
so we walk. We do not mind. But the cat 
followed us, and she cries, and will not walk, and 
she is heavy to carry, and she needs some 
milk.”. 


Lars Materializes a Ghost . 109 

“ She is a good cat," explained Lars. “ If 
you will allow her to live in your barn, she will 
hunt rats and mice.” 

“ She looks starved,” said the dame, “ and 
so do you ! Hey there, Gretchen ! bring out 
a saucer of milk. Yes, you may leave the cat. 
But, going alone to Copenhagen ! On foot ! 
I wish my good man were home, to hear what 
he thinks of that. But he has gone to Copen- 
hagen himself with four fine horses to send to 
England. Ah, if he could speak English as 
you say you can, he would be less liable to be 
cheated in his trading ! ” 

The cat was now lapping greedily at an im- 
mense saucer of milk. 

“ There, let her be,” said the house-mother, 
“ and do you children come into the kitchen 
and have a good breakfast.” 

The house was square, thatched, and, with 
barns and stables joining it on either side, 
formed three sides of a quadrangle. A bed or 
two for flowers, where gilly-flowers, violets and 
periwinkle were coming into bloom, lay among 
newly worked beds for vegetables, and tall lines 
of hop-poles. A rose bush climbed over the 
kitchen door, and on the low, overhanging 
roof, two storks stood dressing their black and 
white plumage. 


I IO 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


“ Will you have some bread soup ? ” asked 
the dame. 

“Please, may I have just the bread; I don't 
like beer,” said Lars ; for Danish farmers’ bread 
soup is made of rye bread and beer, and is the 
usual soup breakfast dish in Zeeland. 

“ Right you are,” said the dame. “ I wish 
none of the Danish boys liked beer, or schnapps. 
We use far too much of it. I told my good 
man the other day, that we would do well to 
take up with the new Temperance ways, and, 
for my part, I’d be quite willing to give the 
servants a trifle more of wages, if they would 
go without any drink but milk, water, or coffee, 
with a glass of mead for Sundays.” 

“ I know a Karle who did that,” said Lars. 
“ His name is Thorrold Iveson. He wanted to 
go to America, and he was saving up all he 
could, he and Jens his brother. Thorrold was so 
steady he was made foreman for a Gaardmand, 
and he got two hundred and fifty kronen a 
year, and three years ago he went to Ameri- 
ca.” 

“ Aye,” said the dame, “ we lose much good 
Danish blood, going to America. But that 
land is large, and ours is but small. There now, 
sit down ; here is all the bread and milk you 
can eat, and a fine slice of cheese, and some 


Lars Materializes a Ghost . 


1 1 1 


herring, and what you don’t eat you can take 
with you for dinner.” 

“ And you’ll keep the cat ? ” asked Lars. 

“ Yes, I’ll keep the cat. Hie there, Gretchen ! 
Take that brindle cat and shut her up in the 
barn till noon, and then feed her again. She’ll 
get wonted to stay after that.” 

Breakfast finished, Lars and Gerda took a 
good wash by the pump trough, and bidding 
the hospitable Frii good day set off for Copen- 
hagen. Gerda had discovered from Gretchen 
that they were ,but eight miles from Korsor, 
and Lars had learned from the dame that Cop- 
enhagen, by the post-road, was sixty-seven 
miles away. 

The fresh air and the breakfast were doing 
them good, and, much strengthened, they set 
out full of courage. But soon the cowslips in a 
field tempted them, and then from the field they 
wandered to a running stream that purled 
among green cresses, and alder bushes where 
birds were building. They gathered cress, and 
sailed boats, and then concluded that the stream 
would run toward Copenhagen, as all waters 
ran toward the sea. So they followed the 
stream for a guide, and the stream meandered 
now this way and now that. They found a 
hay-rick in a field, and, having been up so much 


1 1 2 • Fru Dagmars Son. 

the previous night, they climbed upon the rick 
for a three hours’ nap. As the sun was sinking 
low in the west, Lars insisted upon returning to 
the main road, which, after devious wanderings, 
they did. 

“There’s a mile-stone ! ” cried Gerda; “we must 
have travelled — oh twenty miles to-day. How 
tired I am ! ” 

So they hurried to the mile-stone and read: 

“ Twelve miles to Korsor ! ” 


CHAPTER VII. 


PRIEST ANDERSEN. 


** She saw a sun on a summer's sky , 

And clouds of amber sailing by; 

A lovely land beneath her lay , 

And that land had lakes and mountains grey / 
And that land had valleys and hoary piles 
And marled seas , and a thousand isles. 1 ' 


When Lars read the enormous revelation of 
the mile-stone, that four miles had been the 
sum of their days journey, he was tempted to 
sit down in despair. He had been sure that 
the morrow would reveal the spires and chim- 
neys and heaped-up roofs of Copenhagen 
against the sky. 

“ If we go on like this.” he cried, “ we shall 
be over two weeks in getting to Copenhagen ! ” 
Gerda looked astonished for a minute or two, 
but she was of a more buoyant disposition. 
“ Never mind, who cares ! ” she said. “ We are 
having a lovely time ! I’d as lief be all sum- 
mer in getting to Copenhagen. Let us go on 


1 1 4 Frii Dagmars Son . 

until we find a sheepfold, or an open barn, 
and we will stop in it for the night." 

“ Very well," said Lars firmly, “ but to-mor- 
row we must keep to the road, and have no 
play, and go straight, straight on to Copenhagen. 
I care about getting there. How will our 
clothes look in a little ? Suppose it rains ? 
People will take us for vagrants, and will stop 
us. I don’t like roaming around homeless. 
My mother would not have liked it for me. 
And for a girl! I’m sure it is not right for a 
girl.” 

“ I’m as strong as you are ; don’t talk girl to 
me ! " cried Gerda. 

The stars had come out before the children 
found a shed in which to sleep. They feared 
to stop in any Insidder’s* house, lest too many 
questions should be asked, and they might be 
given in charge as vagrants. 

The night was cold. They woke early. The 
day was raw, and there was threat of rain. All 
their food was gone. Gerda had sixpence in 
pennies, which the Froken Thure had given her 
when she carried home work. She proposed 
to stop at the first Insidder’s cottage on the 
way, and buy a breakfast of coffee, herring and 
bread. The Insidder’s wife questioned them 

* A cottager, a laboring man. 


Priest Andersen . 


ii 5 


sharply, and as they refused to be very com- 
municative, she took fourpence for the break- 
fast, which was quite contrary to Danish hos- 
pitality. “ But,” said the dame, “ the sooner 
you get out of money, the sooner you will go 
home and behave yourselves.” 

Crestfallen by these remarks, the little pilgrims 
set forth again, when Gerda, either speaking 
her real fears, or using the plea to secure her 
coveted enjoyment of the country, said if they 
kept the main road they would very likely meet 
Uncle Kars, who would take them back to Kor- 
sor! To escape that danger, she persuaded 
Lars to enter a lovely beech wood, and con- 
tinue their trip in its shelter. 

“We can keep in sight of the roads,” said 
Gerda, “ and it is so nice to walk on the rust- 
ling dead leaves, and see the violets, and ane- 
mones growing up at the roots of the trees, and 
hear the birds in the branches. Come, Lars, 
suppose we should meet Uncle Kars on the 
road! ” 

So these two little pilgrims, like the two on 
the way to the Celestial City, turned out of the 
road once more, and by degrees the wood 
paths led away from the highroad, but down to 
one of those many small silver lakes which dot 
Zeeland. Oh how beautiful it was at the lake ! 


Frit Dagmars Son . 


1 1 6 

The rushes swayed in the edge of the water ; 
a plash here, a plash there, told of the frogs 
jumping in fora swim, and Lars and Gerda saw 
the sharp noses of the creatures held just above 
the surface of the lake. Then too they could 
see little fish darting here and there, and water 
spiders glancing in little ripples over the calm 
surface. They forgot time, and that this was 
Saturday, and that Copenhagen was yet far 
away. 

But at last Gerda felt a big drop of water 
falling on her nose. She gave a cry — “ Oh 
Lars ! It begins to rain ! ” Sure enough, the 
sky had grown very dark, and here were more 
drops coming to keep the first one company. 

“ Let us run back into the wood to keep dry,*’ 
said Gerda. 

“ There are not leaves enough on the trees 
to shelter us, and the rain is to be long,” 
said Lars. “We must hurry and find a house. 
I have a rix-dollar in my pocket, and at some 
Insidder’s we can perhaps stay over Sunday 
for that.” 

“ A rix-dollar ! ” cried Gerda, astonished at 
such riches. 

But as they ran clattering along in their sa- 
bots through the edge of the wood, they dashed 
almost against a gentleman going calmly under 


Priest Andersen . 


ii 7 

shelter of a cotton umbrella. The stranger 
wore a long cloak, leather shoes, a ruff, a wide- 
winged hat. He stopped. 

“ Why, children ! where are you running ? 
Are you caught in the rain ? But who are you ? 
I do not know you ? 

“ But I know you,” said Lars. “ Don’t you 
remember me, Herr Priest? You gave me 
good words and a breakfast over a year ago.” 

“ Good words and breakfast,” said the smil- 
ing pastor, “ I give to many, but I do not recall 
you particularly, my boy.” 

“ It was on the coach from Praesto to Korsor,” 
said Lars. “ I was with my uncle — and you gave 
me a Bible, don’t you know ? Here it is.” 

“ Ah, I do remember ! And you are out here 
with this little girl ? But run both of you be- 
fore me, as fast as you can, to the house at the 
first turn of the path. You will get wet. I 
will be there in a minute.” 

The children set off on a run, the good man 
hurried his pace, and soon all three were in the 
kitchen of the parsonage. The kitchen was 
clean as scrubbing could make it ; the board 
floor was white, the little diamond panes of the 
windows shone, the walls were whitewashed, 
but overhead the old oak beams were dark 
from the smoke of many years, and from them 


1 1 8 Fru Dagmars Son . 

hung strings of apples, onions, dried herbs in- 
terspersed with smoked tongues, hams and 
flitches of bacon. The family dining table 
stood at one side, draped in a large cloth of 
homespun linen, and with a pot of myrtle in 
the centre ; near the stove sat a comely Danish 
girl preparing vegetables for soup, while a boy 
and girl of about the ages of Lars and Gerda 
were winding yarn near a window. 

“ I have brought you some company, Alex 
and Louise,” said the pastor, as he came to the 
threshold where stood the runaway couple. 
“ Go in, children.” 

Lars and Gerda at once stooped, and took 
off their sabots, for sabots are too noisy for the 
house, and besides would soil the clean kitchen 
floor. The sabots off, they entered, and Gerda 
looked bashfully at her young hosts, while Lars 
pulled off his faded cap, and made a courtly bow. 

“ Take them to your rooms, and carry up 
each of you a jug of hot water, so that they can 
wash and dress. Then I will have some talk 
with them before Marie has dinner,” said the 
father. 

Louise took Gerda up to a neat little room 
over the front hall. 

“ This is small,” she said, “ but it is all my 
own. Now do you want to wash and comb ? ’’ 


Priest Andersen . 


119 

Gerda took from her bundle a comb, a clean 
pair of knitted hose, a clean kerchief for her 
neck, and a blue ribbon to tie her hair, bought 
with part of the Froken Thure’s Christmas 
crown. She had soon made herself very neat. 

“ As you are my company, ’’ said the hospit- 
able Louise, who, seated on the side of the bed, 
her feet swinging, had observed these opera- 
tions, “ I will lend you one of my white aprons, 
and a pair of list shoes.” 

Louise was dressed like Gerda, except that 
she had on shoes and not sabots, and about her 
plump little neck was a white frill, instead of a 
kerchief. When they returned down- stairs, 
they found Lars also washed and brushed, and 
wearing list slippers, while, as the occasion was 
a great one, he had tied about his neck Fru 
Dagmar’s purple kerchief. 

The Herr Pastor led the two children into a 
little room which served him for a study. When 
they were alone he said, 

“ My son — what little maid is this ? ” 

“ She is the niece of my Uncle Kars’ dead 
wife,” said Lars. “ Uncle Kars had taken her to 
bring up.” 

“ And what are you two doing here, nearly 
twenty miles from Korsor ? You live at Korsor, 
do you not, with your Uncle ? ” 


I 20 


Frii Dammars Son . 


“ I did, Herr Priest, but — I have run away.’’ 

Priest Andersen looked grave and shook his 
head. 

“ You think I have done wrong ? ” asked Lars 
anxiously. 

“ I fear so. It is almost invariably wrong 
to run away.” 

Here Gerda interposed : “ Sir, you do not 

know what a very bad man Uncle Kars is. He 
starved Lars, he stole all he earned, he kept 
him locked up, he got drunk, he lies, he does 
not keep Sabbath, Lars never got to school 
nor to Church’' — and then Gerda launched into 
a circumstantial description of Uncle Kars 
house, works and ways, and of Lars’ life with 
him, also of Frii Korner, and the cat. 

When Gerda paused in her fluent tale, Lars 
said — “ Sir, I stood it for over a year. I could 
do no more. I am sure my mother would not 
have wished me to stay longer.” 

“ It is a hard story, indeed,” said Priest 
Andersen; ‘‘ but now, what ? ” 

Again Gerda interposed: “ Sir, we are go- 
ing to Copenhagen, to my Aunt Henrietta lb, 
who will take care of me, and she will find work 
for Lars. It is not far to Copenhagen. We 
are strong, we do not mind walking there,” and 
in her heart Gerda registered a vow, that if 


Priest Andersen . 


I 2 I 


ever she escaped the grave scrutiny of Priest, 
Andersen’s eyes, she would keep to the road, 
and travel to Copenhagen at the best of her 
speed. 

“ Sir,” said Lars, “ I had to leave Uncle Kars. 
I had no other way to grow up a decent man, 
and be what my mother would have wished. 
But it was not right for Gerda to come. Uncle 
Kars had been very bad to her, but she was 
put out to live next door with Fru Heitzen, 
who was not bad to her. If I had known 
Gerda meant to come, I should not have set 
out myself. But she started first, and I found 
her five miles on the road, and she would not 
return.” 

“ Frii Heitzen is poor, and cross,” said Gerda, 
“ and I have to work all the time. I want to go 
to my Aunt Henrietta. She will send me to 
school.” 

“ Why not wait here then, until I write to 
Mistress lb,” said the pastor. “ She could send 
money for your coach fare.” 

“ No, no,” said Gerda, “she is old, and does 
not like to be troubled with letters. She hates 
to be meddled with. And we have money. 
Lars has a whole rix-dollar — haven’t you, Lars ? ” 

“ I thought I had better walk, and keep my 
money to use in Copenhagen,” said Lars. 


122 Frii Dagmars Son. 

“ As it is stormy to-day,” said Pastor Ander- 
sen, “ and to-morrow will be the Sabbath, I will 
keep you here until Monday. Then I will ask 
the carrier to take you to Soro, two miles from 
here, and from there I advise you to go by the 
railroad to Thune, which you can do for your 
rix-dollar. I will give you some food and a 
crown, and I wish I could do more for you, but 
there is nothing so scarce as money in my house 
just now. However, as Thune is but twenty- 
five miles from Copenhagen, and you have a 
relative there, no doubt you will do very well. 
Let us go to dinner.” 

In the kitchen they found Frii Andersen and 
her eldest girl, who had been spinning in a 
room above the kitchen. Herr Andersen ex- 
plained that one of his sons was at the Herre- 
mand’s, acting as tutor, and the other had gone 
to Zurich to college. “ And that takes all 
our crowns at present,” said Herr Pastor, “ but 
Fritz is a very good boy, and a brave fellow at 
his books, and no doubt he will make it all up 
to us some day.” 

The dinner was of soup, fish, potatoes and 
rye bread, but it was all orderly; a blessing was 
asked when they sat down, the family, the lit- 
tle guests, and the maid Marie, daughter of 
a neighboring Insidder. After dinner Gerda 


Priest Andersen . 


123 


showed herself very dexterous in helping clear 
away the dishes, and Lars aided Alexis to pre- 
pare fuel for over Sunday. 

Then Gerda and Louise went up to the room 
over the kitchen, and Frii Andersen and Marie 
the maid were busy at the hand-loom, where 
homespun for every day clothing was being 
woven, and Louise and her sister spun linen 
yarn, and Gerda, perched in a window-seat, 
knit diligently on a long woolen stocking. 

“ I never saw such a knitter,” cried Louise. 
“ Look, mamma, she knits faster than you do. 
My ! I wish I could knit as fast.” 

Meanwhile, in the little study, Lars talked 
with Herr Andersen. He explained that he 
hoped to get a clerks place in some shipping 
office, where his French and English would be 
valuable. Gerda would be all right with her 
aunt, who was kind and well off. No doubt he 
too could stay with Fru lb, until he found a 
place. All this seemed simple and feasible to 
the country pastor. He greatly admired Lars’ 
linguistic proficiency. “ There is nothing I 
should more like for Alexis/’ he said, “ than a 
knowledge of those two languages. If I could 
afford it, I would keep you here for six months, 
to teach him and my eldest girl. My second 
girl is with an Aunt in Jutland who keeps a 


124 


Fru Dagmars Son. 


school. With power to use three tongues you 
are rich. You can become all that your good 
mother desired for you.” 

“ My mother,” said Lars, “ wished me to 
rise in the world, for our ancestors were Herre- 
maend. But one of my great-grandfathers lost 
his property by fire and by becoming security 
for a friend. But the other great-grandfather 
loved wine too well, and also loved play, and 
so lost his money.” 

“ Well, my child,” said Herr Pastor, smiling, 
“ we have not the privilege of choosing our 
ancestors, whether they shall be Herremaend 
or Insidders. It is not what we have risen 
from, which should make us blush. It is our 
ownselves, and what we shall have to report 
of ourselves at God’s bar, that will be the great 
fact of our destiny. Our progeny, not our fore- 
fathers, will make us sad or glad. I am not 
responsible for my grandfather, I am for my 
children. If one of my children does ill, I shall 
be disgraced indeed. So it is open to you to 
do honor to your mother, Frii Dagmar, or to 
disgrace her name, and her rearing of you. All 
the more honor to you if you rise out of the 
wreck of a fallen house, and arrive at greatness 
from a mean and low beginning. Having 
neither home nor parents, and no money but a 


Priest Andersen . 


125 


rix-dollar, you may feel as if your fate is hard. 
But let me tell you what you have — 

“ You have the alphabet, which is at the base 
of all knowledge. You have the Ten Com- 
mandments, the foundation of all morals. The 
multiplication tables you have also, the founda- 
tion of all fortunes. Now, having the alphabet, 
Ten Commandments, and multiplication tables, 
you need fear nothing, you are well provided. 
You have also the Lord’s Prayer, by which to 
take hold of the protection of Heaven, and you 
know it is written, “Ask and ye shall receive, 
seek and ye shall find.” 

The good man spoke so kindly, and so encour- 
aged Lars that the boy almost felt as if he were 
acting treacherously in not revealing to him 
that he had three gold pieces in a bag. But 
his mother had told him to keep that money 
secret. He resolved not to take the good pas- 
tor’s crown on Monday morning. Pastor 
Andersen went on to give Lars advice as to 
escaping the temptations of the city. To live 
frugally, be industrious and zealous in work, 
spend his spare time in self-improvement, these 
were the pathways of success. 

“We Danes are a kindly, orderly, sober, 
cheerful people,” he said, “but all people have 
their faults, and all cities their temptations. 


126 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


Keep out of the streets at night, keep out of 
saloons, and don’t play games for any stakes, 
even pins.” 

After a time, Louise and Gerda came down- 
stairs, and the children were shown through 
the parsonage, a roomy, square, substantial 
building like a Gaardmand’s house. The floors 
were waxed and had home-made rugs laid upon 
them. The furniture was oak and heavy, and 
had already served two or three generations, for 
Herr Andersen’s father had been Priest here 
before him. Gerda was especially interested in 
three great oaken chests, richly carved, belong- 
ing to the three Andersen girls, and being 
slowly filled with a rich stock of home-made 
linen, beautifully bleached, made up and marked 
with embroidered initials, in readiness for the 
day when they should marry. 

“ I had just such a splendid chest, that was 
my mother’s,” sighed Gerda, “ and Uncle Kars 
sold it to an Englishman ! ” 

“ Never mind,” said Lars, “ your Aunt 
Henrietta lb will give you another.” 

Lars thought the parsonage very fine ; he 
had nothing to contrast it with except the plain 
three-roomed cottage of his mother in Praesto 
and the gloomy, dirty store-house of antiques, 
in which his uncle lived at Korsor. Gerda saw 


Priest Andersen . 127 

his admiration and whispered that “the house of 
her Aunt Henrietta lb was a million times larger 
and more beautiful.” 

“ Come,” said Louise to Gerda, “ let us go 
and set the tea-table. We have early tea to- 
night because our father’s catechism class meets 
here this evening. He has it here every Sat- 
urday.” 

After the tea of porridge and milk, white 
rolls and smoked herring, Alexis and Lars 
took their lamps up to the spinning room. 
The wheels were then set back beside the wall 
and two long benches were set out facing 
each other. Between the benches was a table 
covered with a white cloth and having on it a 
book, a lamp and a violin. 

Presently all the young folks of the neigh- 
borhood, from nine to sixteen years old, came 
trooping in. Their sabots made a great clatter 
to the kitchen door, but then they put on felt 
slippers. They came crowding upstairs, and 
sat down, the girls on one long bench with 
Louise at their head, the boys on the other 
bench with Alexis as their leader. Then the 
pastor came in, having added his clerical bands 
to his long gown and ruff. He passed along 
the benches, shaking hands with each boy or 
girl, asking how they did, and for news of the 


128 


Frii Dagmars Son. 


family of each. Then taking his place at the 
table, he lifted his hand and they all said in 
concert the Lord’s Prayer. Next he read out 
a hymn, and giving them the key on the 
violin they all sang. After that the first fif- 
teen verses of the Sermon on the Mount were 
repeated by pastor and class alternately. Next 
about twenty minutes were spent in question- 
ing the class in the catechism : when an answer 
was missed by any one, it was repeated by 
the class in concert several times. Lastly, the 
Apostles’ Creed and the Ten Commandments 
were recited in concert. 

“ Now, my children,” said the good pastor, 
“ if you always keep in your heads and hearts 
and practice in your lives the Ten Command- 
ments, the Lord’s Prayer, the Creed, the Ser- 
mon on the Mount, and the Catechism, you 
will none of you fall away into by and forbidden 
paths, but you will follow justice and temper- 
ance in this world, and in the world to come see 
life everlasting. God bless you. Now you 
have an hour for play.” 

The children at once began some kind of a 
marching game with singing, accompanied by 
the pastor’s violin. After two or three games 
of this kind, like genuine Danes, they began to 
dance, quaint country dances. 


Priest Andersen. 


129 


“ Lars,” said Louise, “ will you dance the 
Rigel with me ? v 

“ I don’t know how, ” said Lars, “ I never 
danced.” 

“ Come and I will show you,” said Louise, 
holding out her hand. “ Make me a bow, take 
your place there, take my hand, and do just as 
I do.” 

The long attic was soon filled with the de- 
mure little figures in homespun, dressed just 
like elderly people, the little girls in long kirtles 
and snug caps, the boys in smock frocks or 
short jackets, all dancing away in time to the 
pastor’s violin. Up and down, in the shadows 
and out, now pausing to laugh and take breath, 
now wheeling on again in the same old-fash- 
ioned mazes kept generations back by their 
grandparents and great-grandparents. At last 
the pastor’s violin sounded a note that meant 
“ stop ! ” 

The children separated into two lines, girls in 
one, boys in the other. For ten minutes the 
pastor gave out words for spelling. Then the 
texts given out for the evening were asked for 
and repeated. 

“ Good night,” said Priest Andersen; “go 
straight to your homes, without any delay, and 
may God go with ycu.” 


130 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


Away went the guests, each answering “ Good 
night, and soon the noise of their sabots had 
died out along the road. Pastor Andersen took 
his violin to the kitchen and for half an hour 
played sweet old tunes for his family. “ It is 
my one recreation, and saved for Saturday 
night,” he said to Lars. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


TWO LITTLE PILGRIMS. 


** The Being that is in the clouds and air t 
That is in the green leaves among the groves , 
Maintains a deep and reverential care 
For unoffending creatures whom He loves.” 


Sabbath passed pleasantly at the parsonage. 
The family were all at church in the morning 
and afternoon. At five o’clock they had a din- 
ner of boiled fowl and pudding. Louise told 
Gerda that this was unusual luxury in honor 
of having guests. 

As they sat at table after dinner the pastor 
said — “ As Lars will perhaps never be here 
again, I shall give him some good advice, which 
will be just as suitable to the rest of you. You 
will, no doubt, find in this world those who * 
wrong you, enemies — be sure and give them 
forgiveness, for it is written ‘ If ye forgive not 
men their trespasses neither will your heavenly 
Father forgive you.’ You will find those who 
differ from you, give them courteous tolera- 

l 3 l 


i3 2 


Frii Dagmars Son. 


tion, ‘considering yourselves lest you also be 
tempted,’ and remembering the Scripture ‘ With 
what judgment you judge ye shall be judged.’ 
You will have friends, love them heartily, for 
‘ whoso dwelleth in love dwelleth in God.’ 
Give to all those about you a good example, 
‘ Let all your works so shine that all about you 
may glorifiy your Father in heaven ’ : give to 
your masters and rulers, deference, respect : for 
they are set over you by God. Give to your 
parents, dead or living, such noble conduct as 
will honor their memories : to yourselves 
give honorable respect, knowing that your 
bodies are temples of the living God, therefore 
encourage no base appetites but follow after tem- 
perance and the love of God; and finally, my 
children, give to all humanity charity and do 
good to all men as ye have opportunity.” 

This was the after-dinner sermon preached 
by Priest Andersen to his family. 

Early next morning the carrier’s cart for Soro 
stopped at the parsonage, and, furnished with 
a package of luncheon, the two little pilgrims 
once more set forth toward Copenhagen. 

“Write to me when you get safely to Mis- 
tress lb, 7 ’ said the pastor, who had no notion how 
long it would be before he should hear from 
Lars, nor how soon he should again see him ! 


Two Little Pilgrims . 133 

Arrived at Soro, the morning train had left for 
Copenhagen, and as there would not be another 
train until late at night, the children concluded 
to walk on. The weather was lovely, and al- 
ready the passion for wandering in the verdant 
country had laid hold upon them. Gerda es- 
pecially longed to ramble idly on her way, the 
green grass under her feet, the songs of birds 
about her head, and all the witchery of spring 
stealing upon her senses with the odors of the 
flowers. 

“ It is but ten miles to Ringsted,” said Gerda, 
looking at a guide board. “ Let us walk that 
far, and save your money.” Strolling merrily 
along, looking rather like two children just sent 
out to school by some careful mother, than two 
little homeless strays seeking their fortune, went 
Lars and Gerda toward Copenhagen. They 
seemed as safe and as happy and to fit the 
world as well as the finches and field-fares that 
twittered and fluttered along the roadsides, 
darting with merry-making calls from spray to 
spray. Birds and children alike helpless, inno- 
cent and fearless, held in the All-Fathers hand ! 

“ See there ! See there ! ” cried Gerda. “ I 
believe it is an Invitation man ! Oh Lars, if 
we could only go to the wedding ! ” She 
pointed to a tall Insidder, dressed in his best 


134 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


caped coat, a tall, felt hat, ornamented with pea- 
cock’s feathers, corduroy knee-breeches, long- 
ribbed stockings, undressed leather shoes, a 
silver chain on his neck, a silver-headed cane 
in his hand, and a fine parti-colored bow on his 
arm. He was standing at the door of a Herre- 
mand’s house, apparently delivering an oration. 
The smiling house-wife and her daughters heard 
him with attention. Then one of the house- 
maids appeared with a glass and bottle, and 
the distinguished Insidder drank off a liberal 
potation. 

“ He’ll be as drunk as an idiot before 
night,” observed Gerda, “ the Invitation man al- 
ways gets drunk. Why don’t they give him 
milk, or mead, or gooseberry shrub ? Say, Lars, 
let us go with him, and take him home at 
night. You wouldn’t want to have him lie 
out-of-doors and forget the invitations, would 
you ? Then we’ll be bid stay to the wedding ! 
I was at one once. Oh the best fun! You 
have bushels of cakes, and cream cheese, and 
rodgrod till you’re tired of it ! ” 

Now, what boy of fourteen, who has been 
starved for a year on stale bread would be 
proof against such a bill of fare ? Rodgrod ad 
lib! Now, rodgrod is barberries stewed to a 
jam in sugar, and deluged with thick cream: to 


Two Little Pilgrims, 135 

the palate of a Danish boy it is the nectar of 
the gods. 

As the children lingered at the gate, forth 
came the Invitation man, elate and stepping 
proudly. 

“ Please, sir, is it a wedding ? ” asked Gerda. 

“ Indeed it is, my pretty little dear, the finest 
wedding that has been in this country for many a 
year. Gaardmand Lotze’s daughter is to marry 
Gaardmand Miillersson. They are both young, 
rich and handsome, and were called in church 
yesterday by Priest Kope. Next Sunday they 
are to be called twice, and then a week from 
to-morrow they are to be married, and a hun- 
dred and ten invitations are to be given out, 
and it will take me four days. If you will come 
with me to the house yonder, you will hear me 
recite the invitation; it is poetry. My name is 
Jan Braun, and I am Gaardmand Lotze’s best 
Insidder.” 

Here they reached the next house, and rap- 
ping sharply on the door with his silver headed 
cane, as soon as the expectant family within 
appeared, Jan Braun threw himself into a majes- 
tic pose, and began to recite — 

“ By me the Gaardmand Lotze sends 
A wedding greeting to his friends. 

His daughter and Herr Muller’s son 
To morrow week will be made one. 


i3 6 


Frii Dagmar's Son. 


To grace the wedding you he calls, 

Which properly on Tuesday falls. 

On Tuesday wear the myrtle crown 

And blessed be the bride the sun shines on.” 


“ That is beautiful poetry," said the listening 
dame, while her servant poured for Jan Braun 
liberal schnapps. 

“ Herr Pastor made it for us,’’ said Jan, drain- 
ing the glass. 

“ Will you have a taste, my little dears ? ” 
asked the girl of Lars and Gerda, offering to 
pour out more schnapps. 

“ No thank you — I don’t like it," said Lars, 
drawing back. 

“ That’s a good boy," said the housewife. 
“ I wish no one liked it. For shame, Elspeth, 
to offer children strong- drink ! Go bring them 
each a peffer cake and a taste of barberry syrup, 
pretty little dears ! Your children, Braun ? " 

This suggestion so incensed Lars that he 
was obliged to retire behind Jan Braun, and 
shake his fist, for he was a proud little fellow, 
and it infuriated him to be taken for the son of 
the schnapps-loving Insidder. 

As they proceeded to the next house, Gerda 
said, “Herr Braun, if you drink so much schnapps 
at each house, you will soon be very drunk, 
won’t you ? " 


Two Little Pilgrims . 


137 


To be called Herr tickled Jans fancy hugely, 
and he replied, “ Oh, my little dear, I can hold 
a great deal of schnapps,” and he patted his dia- 
phragm approbatively. 

“ But even the largest pig gets full sometime,’’ 
said the astute Gerda, “ and you have many 
houses to visit.’’ 

“That is true,” assented Jan, “and there 
lies my danger. When my Gaardmand’s eldest 
girl was married, I got so very drunk the first 
day that I lay down by the roadside. The 
night was rainy, and all my finery would have 
been spoiled if my wife had not come out to 
look for me, and drag me home. Now my 
wife cannot come, for she has a lame leg. If 
our Gaardmand had known about that time, I 
should not have been sent out as Inviter to-day. 
Now, my children, the weather is fine, and you 
are in no haste ; suppose you keep with me to- 
day, and see me home safe at night ? You shall 
have as good beds, and as good supper and 
breakfast as any Insidder in Denmark could give 
you, and, being strangers, you will not chatter 
if I should take a little more schnapps than is 
ofood for me.” 

“ In that case you might be violent,” said the 
cautious Lars. 

“ Bless you,” replied Jan, “ when I’m drunk 
I’m mild as a cow without horns.” 


138 Fril Dagmars Son. 

Lars and Gerda had made vigorous resolu- 
tions to hasten on their way to Copenhagen, 
but liberty was sweet, and curiosity was strong, 
and as they found the calls with the ‘ Invitation 
man’ very amusing, they lingered along with 
him. They were such a neat, handsome, man- 
nerly little pair that the dames at the houses 
looked at them with kindly eyes, and the day 
furnished a succession of cakes, tartines, crum- 
pets and milk or gooseberry shrub. Many 
of the invitations were given in a small village 
or hamlet, for at a Gaardmand wedding every 
one is invited, except Insidders not immediately 
working for the Gaardmand. By dint of hinting 
and elbow pulling, and finally by plain speaking 
to the dispensers of schnapps, the energetic 
Gerda succeeded in keeping the Insidder on his 
feet, and sufficiently in possession of his senses 
to know his way home, where he arrived at 
sunset with his guests. 

“ Here you are ! ” cried his wife, who was 
knitting on the doorstep. “ Bless me ! I made 
sure you would forget your promises, and be 
dead drunk by this time.” 

“ I wouldn’t let him,’’ said Gerda. “ Why 
should a man turn himself into a pig ? ” 

“ She wouldn’t let me,” chuckled Jan. “ Oh 
she’s a master hand, the little red-cheeked girl ! 


Two Little Pilgrims. 1 39 

I’ve asked them for the night, my wife, and 
the little one will fly round and help you get 
supper.” 

The Insidder Braun’s cottage consisted of 
two rooms. The first was the kitchen with a 
brick hearth raised a yard above the floor, and 
on the hearth burned a wood fire. The deal 
floor was scrubbed with sand to a polished white, 
a deal table and chairs had also been scrubbed 
until they had acquired a fine satin-like gloss; 
a cupboard with blue dishes stood in a corner; 
copper utensils shone on nails above the wall, 
and on a shelf stood an American clock, and 
four or five old and black bound books. 

Gerda hastened to help the good wife get 
supper, and while doing so answered a flood of 
questions with a flood of explanations. All 
their friends were dead, and she and her Cousin 
Lars were going to their Aunt Henrietta lb, 
who would do well for them. Gerda also vol- 
unteered that she was in no hurry to go her 
way, and that she wished she could go to the 
wedding. Once she had been to a wedding. 
It had been the gala day of her life. 

After supper was eaten and cleared away, 
said Frii Braun, “ As you are company, we will 
sit in the best room,” so she ushered them to 
the inner room. There the deal floor was even 


140 Frii Dagmars Son . 

whiter than in the kitchen, and gay mats made 
by the Frii lay upon it. Against one wall 
stood two beds, bright with canopies and cur- 
tains and flounces of green and red-striped cot- 
ton, and piled high with feather beds under 
home-woven, check counterpanes. Against the 
opposite wall stood two carved chests, and these 
the Frii proudly opened and displayed linen 
and blankets woven by her own hands, the best 
Sunday clothes of herself and Jan, and the gold- 
en-crowned lace cap, which she had inherited 
from her grandmother. The beds looked very 
short and high, for they were built telescope 
fashion, to shut up short by day, and pull out 
at night, when the surrounding curtains reduced 
them to little state-rooms. Gerda slept with 
Frii Braun in one bed, and the good woman 
was so enchanted to see the little maid kneel- 
ing down to say her little prayer, her yellow 
hair unbound, her little pink, bare feet sticking 
out from beneath her night-dress, that she gave 
her a hug, and said “ she would see that she 
stayed to the wedding if she wished to.” 

If Gerda and Frii Braun decreed a week’s de- 
lay for the wedding, of course the choice of 
Lars for haste was hopeless. Next day Frii 
Braun said that Frii Lotze was much in need of a 
quick, tidy little girl to run errands, go to the 


Two Little Pilgrims. 141 

door, beat eggs, and be of general utility dur- 
ing the nuptial celebrations. The little girl she 
had depended on was ill of measles, and Frii 
Lotze feared to call in other children of the farm, 
for how sad it would be if the bride elect took 
the measles ! “ Lars too could be useful. They 

would have a good time, and a feast; who knew, 
they might even earn a crown or two ? ” 

“ Besides,” said Gerda, “I need time to wash 
and iron our clothes, Lars. You know you 
haven’t a clean shirt.” 

After such cogent reasoning, who shall won- 
der that by noon Gerda was established at the 
house of Gaardmand Lotze, and Lars was gone 
forth as body-guard to Jan the Invitation man. 
All at the Gaardmand’s was stir and excitement. 
Laid out in the best room were the clothes of 
the bride, and heaped on chairs were her piles 
of household linen, all ready for the inspection 
of her admiring friends. The pots of myrtle, 
which she had tended all winter for her mar- 
riage crown, were set in the sunniest window. 
Scrubbing brushes were plied everywhere, to 
make the Gaardmand’s house shine from cellar 
to garret. Gaardmand Lotze being rich, own- 
ing his ninety acres, lived almost in the style 
of a Herremand. 

Gerda helped feed the chickens, gather eggs, 


142 


Fru Dagmars Son. 


dress vegetables, and at every idle hour she ran 
to the Spinde Stue to knit or spin. At evening 
ail the women and girls of the establishment 
assembled in the Spinde Stue, or large spinning 
room, with Fru Lotze and her daughters, and 
the wheels hummed merrily. Lars, as a very 
pretty and courteous boy, was taken into favor, 
and admitted to the Spinde Stue with Herr 
Lotze’s youngest son, to wind yarn or card wool. 

Meantime the wedding presents began to 
flow in, and Gerda was constantly bearing gifts 
away to be stored in pantry or cellar, for in 
Denmark wedding gifts are to the parents and 
not to the bride, and consist chiefly of food for 
the wedding party. Thus one friend sent a plat- 
ter with ten pounds of butter set in a wreath of 
parsley ; another, six dozen of eggs in a deco 
rated basket; another, a dressed lamb ; yet an- 
other, a leg of beef wreathed with sweet herbs ; 
others still, dressed geese, ducks, fowls, a sucking 
pig, ajar of honey, a huge bowl of preserved bar- 
berries, a cask of mead, a firken of cream. 
The guests were to be many, but provisions for 
more than as many were sent in. 

Finally the wedding day came, as sunny and 
mild as bride could wish. There were no more in- 
terested spectators of the ceremonies than Lars 
and Gerda. By ten o’clock carts and chaises 


Two Little Pilgrims . 143 

began to arrive with the guests, and waited in 
a long line before the house. 

At eleven, down came the bride and her sis- 
ters, the bride dressed in a dark blue velvet 
skirt, short enough to show her silk stockings 
and high heeled, patent-leather shoes; her black 
velvet bodice, embroidered in gold, was laced 
over a full white guimp ; a silk sash, with ends 
of gold fringe, hung carelessly looped at her 
left side. On her neck was a thick chain of 
gold beads, and on her head a simple myrtle 
crown. Lars and Gerda thought they had 
never seen any one so beautiful. 

Then the procession arranged itself. The two 
best men on gaily-ribboned horses went first, 
then came a cart with the village band of three 
or four brass instruments, and, throned high 
above the rest, the village fiddler. Next came 
a cart ornamented with wreaths and ribbons, 
in which rode the bride alone. After this came 
the bridegroom, alone in another cart, and glo- 
rious in a tall hat, and a huge coat with many 
capes, which he wore as proudly as a judge 
wears his ermine. Lars, Gerda and many other 
children strewed flowers before their carts, and 
then ran on to the church to be ready to strew 
flowers there, under the feet of the entering 
bride and groom. After the grooms cart came 


144 


Fru Dagmctrs Son. 


all the carts and chaises of friends and relatives 
in long succession. The groom’s parents at- 
tended, but the bride’s, father and mother were 
bound to stay at home and see that the last 
touches were given to the table. 

Old Gaardmand Lotze, the grandfather, gave 
the bride away. The ceremony over at the 
church, the procession returned : the newly 
wedded pair riding together in the bride’s cart, 
preceded by the band with a great fanfare of 
trumpets and cornets. 

The yeomanry of Denmark are a hearty, jolly 
race ; they hail occasions for feasting and danc- 
ing in all good fellowship. In the great upper 
room, reserved in all rich homes for such festiv- 
ities, a table was made of boards laid on barrels 
and covered with fine home-made damask. 
The guests seated, the bridegroom on Herr 
Lotze’s right, Herr Pastor on his left, Herr Pas- 
tor with patriarchal simplicity asked a blessing 
on the meal. A Dane would consider himself 
a heathen indeed if his festal meal were un- 
blessed. The presence of Herr Pastor was no 
damper on the jollity of the occasion. He entered 
into the simple mirth of his people just as cheer- 
fully as be made “ poetry ” for the wedding invi- 
tations. 

The wives of the farm Insidders, Lars, Gerda, 


Two Little Pilgrims. 145 

and some other children, waited on the table. 
Soups, meats, cakes in endless variety, cheese* 
and rodgrod were dispersed lavishly. Milk, 
mead, gooseberry shrub, raspberry vinegar, a 
mixture of lemons, spice, water and brown sugar 
with coffee, cocoa and tea, flowed freely — but 
no schnapps. 

“ Frii Lotze,” cried a guest, “ where are your 
schnapps, to help a little our digestion, before 
all these puddings and pies ! ” 

“ Herr Muller, my son-in-law,” said Frii 
Lotze, is one of the temperance men, and he re- 
quested me to have no schnapps. In our house 
and Herr Mullers there is to be no more strong 
drink.” 

“ Frii Lotze,” said Herr Pastor, “ you are 
happy in being sure that your son-in-law will 
never dissipate his property and leave his wife 
in poverty.” 

“ Ah, yes, it is safe,” “ No doubt it is best/’ 
“ Perhaps it is well,” were the exclamations that 
followed Frii Lotze’s explanation. 

After a dinner three hours’ long, the tables 
were cleared away for dancing. It was now 
five o’clock, and the long room would soon be 
lighted with lanterns, and with candles fastened 
on hoops which depended from the rafters. 

The band and the fiddler struck up their 


146 


Fru Dagmars Son. 


music, and the bride opened the ball, according 
to custom, with her grandfather. Next she 
danced with her father, her father-in-law and 
uncles and eldest brother. Then there was 
a pause. The bride was blindfolded, led out 
in a group of her girl friends, and taking off her 
myrtle crown flung it high into the air. She flung 
it so high that it went beyond the maidens in 
the group, and the active Gerda caught it. “ O 
that is not fair ! ” “ She has no right ! ” “ The 

little chit that will not be ready to be married 
this ten years ! ” 

For the girl who catches the myrtle crown 
will be the next girl married. Lars took the 
myrtle crown from Gerda, and restoring it to 
the bride, said, “ Fling it again, Fru Muller. 
Gerda meant no harm.” His voice was full of 
conciliation. 

“ I will dance the Rigel with you, Lars,” said 
the bride. 

The dancing continued until daybreak, when 
.the guests dispersed, but at two in the after- 
noon all were back for another feast and dance 
of twelve hours. Then on Thursday the feast 
and dance were for the third time repeated, 
and at dawn the bride and groom set off for the 
home of Herr Muller. They rode in a deco- 
rated cart driven by the best men, and carrying 


Two Little Pilgrims . 147 

in the back the huge carved chest, stored with 
the bride’s household linen. 

“ I’ll tell you what it is, Gerda,” said 
Lars, as about seven in the morning he and 
Gerda met at the pump-trough for a wash. 
“ If you choose to idle along here, and grow 
up servant to Frii Lotze, you may do it. But 
at half-past eight, as soon as I have fed the pigs 
and chickens, I’m going to say ‘Good-bye,’ and 
start for Copenhagen. I mean to be something 
better than a farm Karle. Take your choice, 
come or stay, but I’ll make no delays.” 

“O Lars ! Well, I’ll go with you,” said Gerda, 
“ if you don’t like it here.” 

“It is all very good, only I mean to grow 
up into a gentleman, and do my mother credit. 
Frii Dagmar’s son can do better than feed pigs. 
Pigs don’t understand French or English. I shall 
soon forget all I know, at this rate.” 


CHAPTER IX. 


« I’VE KILLED MY AUNT HENRIETTA!” 

t( Such tricks hath strong Imagination , 

That if he would but apprehend some joy , 

It comprehends some bringer of that joy; 

Or in the night imagining some fear y 
How easy is a Bush supposed a Bear ? ” 


By nine o’clock good-byes were said. Lars 
and Gerda each received a little wicker basket 
filled with remainders of the wedding feast, and 
being kissed heartily, and wished “ good luck,’’ 
they set out once more toward Copenhagen. 

Lars moved along briskly. Gerda’s little 
clattering sabots seemed glued to the ground. 

They had not gone far, when they came to 
a mite of a child, blue-eyed, fair-haired, her 
mother’s miniature in dress, with the long blue 
homespun gown, the big apron, the close cap, 
the sabots — only five years old, but out for her 
day’s work of herding poultry. Armed with a 
long rod, she easily managed her feathered 
subjects, among which she had grown up. At 
an age when most American children are closely 

148 


Fve Killed My Aunt Henrietta!' 149 


watched by mother or nurse, the litte dimpled 
Dane was paying her own way in cares for the 
clacking hens and noisy geese. 

‘‘ Good-bye, dear little Mai,” said Gerda, kiss- 
ing her, and as she went on Lars saw that her 
eyes were full of tears, and her lips trembled. 
It irritated him. He cried, crossly: — 

“ I just believe you want to stay here all your 
life, working among the Insidders girls in the 
dairy or Spinde Stue! Such a chance as you 
have with your aunt, you ought to be ashamed V 9 
At this Gerda s tears welled over, and wet 
her red cheeks. The sight reduced Lars to 
contrition. He put his arms about her. 
“ Don’t cry, dear Gerda. I’m as mean as can 
be to speak so to you, and you've been so good 
to me ! No wonder you feel bad. This is no 
life for a girl ! I said you shouldn’t try it.’’ 

“ It is a life for a girl ! And I wanted to try 
it ! ” cried Gerda, dashing away her tears. “ I like 
it ! Let’s race. I can reach that poplar tree up 
the road before you can ! ” 

Away they dashed — but who can be fleet in 
wooden shoes ? That day they made a very good 
journey. They rested for over an hour at noon, 
eating their dinner in a fine oak wood. They 
were much stronger and stouter than when they 
set out from Korsor. They rode for two or three 


i5o Frii Dagmars Son. 

miles with a factor who was collecting butter, 
eggs, cheese and fowls to send to Copenhagen 
for shipment to England. For, while England 
keeps her poor hungry, idle and pauperized, by 
preserving the land, she is necessitated to buy 
farm products from Denmark; while thrifty 
Denmark turns every rood of land to food pro- 
ducing, and a happy and well-fed peasantry grow 
rich on selling their surplus food stuffs to England. 

This Fridays journey was of ten miles; and, 
tired but contented, when the daylight had 
faded, our travellers came to a blacksmith shed 
on the edge of an oak wood. The smith had 
locked up his tools and departed, but the forge 
fire still shone in the gloom of the smithy, and 
in its gentle warmth Lars and Gerda sat down 
to eat their Supper, and then Lars spread an 
armful of hay that was in a corner, and which 
made them a very good bed. Gerda went to 
sleep at once, but Lars sat with his arms about 
his knees, and until late at night meditated on 
their remarkably slow progress. Two weeks 
out, and they had gone but thirty miles ! For 
the town through which they had just passed 
was Ringsted, and Korsor and Ringsted are 
but about thirty miles apart. 

On Saturday morning they set forth again, 
but more slowly, and making various delays 


“ Fve Killed My Aunt Henrietta .” 1 5 1 

now to watch birds building, now to see some 
frisky rabbits making merry in the edge of the 
wood; now to make a detour to a little lakelet 
to drink and wash, and to find cresses in a little 
rivulet. Then they finished eating the bounti- 
ful luncheon provided by Frii Lotze, and at two 
o’clock came in sight of Kjoge cross-roads. 
Along the sides of the Naseby and Kjoge 
Roads, booths of fir and beech were set up, 
carts were drawn up in order, and there was 
a crowd of people, men and women, the Insid- 
der dress largely predominating, while the 
caped-coats of Gaardmand and Parcelist or the 
gay shawls of their wives were seen scattered 
through the groups. Lars recognized the 
gathering, he had seen such at Praesto. “ It 
is a servants’ fair,” he said, “ the Karles and 
Maids are here to hire out for the half year. 
Do you see the magistrate there to sign the 
books and to settle disputes ? This is the 
spring hiring. A good Karle will get a hun- 
dred and fifty kronen a year.” 

“ Perhaps somebody would want to hire us,” 
said Gerda, anxiously. 

“ Well, they won’t get us,” said Lars, proudly. 
“ I’m going to be a clerk for French and English, 
and you are going to be a lady, and live with 
your Aunt Henrietta.” 


i52 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


The interest of the fair, the booths, with their 
cheap wares, the two or three puppet and 
dancing bear shows, was such, that the two 
children lingered among them until the sun was 
low. No one questioned them, everybody 
supposed that they belonged to somebody else. 
Then suddenly Lars bethought himself that it 
was drawing toward night, their provisions 
were gone, and they had no place to sleep ! 
Among the throng he had noticed especially 
one Husmand, a big, fatherly looking man, who 
had come to the fair to hire out his two sons, 
one to a wainwright to learn a trade, the other 
as gardener’s assistant at the Herremand’s. 
Lars had noticed his kindly way with the lads, 
and had overheard him giving them very good 
advice. To him he addressed himself. 

“ Herr, my cousin and I are on our way to 
our aunt, at Copenhagen, and we do not want 
to travel on Sunday. May we go to your 
house until Monday ? We have each a kroner 
to pay for our lodging.” 

“ Where are your parents ? ” asked the 
Husmand. 

“They are all dead, Herr ; Gerda’s and mine.’’ 

“And you are going to live \vith your aunt?” 

“ Our Aunt Henrietta lb,” said Gerda, 
eagerly. 


“ Tve Killed My Aunt Henrietta!' 153 

“ Very well, come with me, the good wife 
will not object. The boys’ bed is now empty, 
and my little daughter will take this girl in. It 
is a sad lot for children to wander alone.” 

“ We shall soon get to Aunt Henrietta lb/’ 
said Lars cheerfully ; “we are not afraid, and we 
like to walk.” 

“We have about two miles to go,” said the 
Husmand, “ and as soon as I bid my boys 
good-bye, we will start.” 

Leaving the Kjoge road, they turned north- 
east, and the Husmand remarked that his 
house was not much out of their way, as it was 
on the road to Sobrad. “ At my house,” he 
said, “ I have on the wall a good map of Zee- 
land, and you can see all the villages and roads 
plainly marked out.” 

A Husmand’s house is much like an Insid- 
der’s. The Husmand owns a few acres, from 
two to eight, which he farms for himself, and 
when his children are old enough, ne puts them 
in the way of learning trades, and from the 
children of Husmaend the mechanics of Den- 
mark are recruited, while the Insidders are day 
laborers, and farm-hands; the young farm-hands 
living with their employers being called Karles. 

As Husmand Bauer went homewards, he 
told Lars that he had a daughter who was a 


1 54 Frii Dag mars Son . 

dressmaker, and an eldest son who was a jour- 
neyman carpenter. He owned seven acres, 
which he farmed, while his wife raised poultry, 
and attended to her kitchen garden and spin- 
ning ; he had a very valuable cow and had sold 
eighty pounds of butter the last year. 

“ I knew a Husmand once, near Praesto, 
named Iveson,” said Lars, “ he owned eight 
acres, and had two sons, Jens and Thorrold. 
Thorrold has gone to America. After his father 
and mother died, the eight acres were sold to 
the Gaardmand, and Thorrold took the money 
to America to buy land. Jens is going too, 
sometime. Jens and Thorrold were foremen, and 
they got big wages because they take money 
instead of beer and schnapps.” 

“ That is no doubt a fine plan, if all the mas- 
ters would agree to it,” said the Husmand, 
and, they might very well, as the men would 
do more work and better without strong drink; 
the notion that people need strong drink to 
work on, is going out of fashion.’* 

The Husmand’s cottage, white walled 
thatched, bare of vines, to which the Denmark 
winters are inimical, soon came in sight. 

The Husmand’s wife stood in the doorway, 
eager to hear what had been the fortune of 
her boys. She received Lars and Gerda with 


I've Killed My Aunt Henrietta .” 1 55 


true Danish hospitality, and Gerda and the 
daughter of the house were soon off together 
to milk the famous cow that had Jersey blood 
in her. 

Lars spent several hours in the study of the 
Husmand’s map and in taking down the names 
of the towns through which he should pass. 
He astounded the Husmand by the infor- 
mation that he could speak English. 

“ In that case your fortune is made,” said the 
Husmand, “ for in Copenhagen, at the ship- 
pers’, those who can speak French and English 
are always in demand. Though as far as Eng- 
lish goes, our Danish of Jutland is so like the 
English of Newcastle that when I was a boy 
on Jutland, twice I went to England, with a 
shipload of beef cattle, and I talked my tongue, 
and the North countryman talked his, and we 
got on very well. It made me think what a 
pity that men by their wickedness ever got 
themselves so out of the Lord’s favor that 
He put the curse of Babel between them. 
Hey ? That Babel has cost us a deal of work * 
learning languages. Hey ? ” 

No people are more hospitable than the 
Danes. The housewife refused the money the 
children offered her on Monday, and gave them 
a good luncheon of rye bread and boiled bacon 


1 56 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


to take with them ; then with motherly kisses 
and hearty desires that she might hear of their 
welfare, she sent them forth toward Copenhagen. 

“ Gerda,” said Lars, “ I have studied the 
map, and I find if we keep right on this road to 
Sobrad, we shall come to the sea. Would you 
like to go along the sea beach ? We can walk 
on the sand, and see the sea-birds and the 
waves, and perhaps we can find some shells , 
to take to your Aunt Henrietta.” 

Gerda was overjoyed at this proposal. She 
had been to the sea as a child, and while at 
Korsor had gone to the beach of the Great 
Belt channel, near which Korsor lies. But 
Lars at Korsor had been too much a prisoner 
to get that little distraction. 

The road toward Sobrad was not very direct, 
nor was it thickly settled. They left the high- 
way once or twice to get water, and it was 
evening before they reached Sobrad. Tired 
and hungry they stopped at a little public house, 
and for a crown each were to have tea, bed and 
breakfast. They slept late, but by nine o’clock, 
after a hearty breakfast of porridge and milk, 
they set off along the beach. They were now 
thirty miles from Copenhagen, They had in- 
tended to trayel briskly, but who could resist 
the attractions of the beach ? They took off 


' I've Killed My Aunt Henrietta I 1 5 7 


their sabots and stockings and waded ; they 
made whole fleets of boats and sailed them — 
slowly toward Copenhagen. The Sound was 
lull of fishing boats and vessels, and who 
could forego the enchantment of sitting on the 
warm sand, and watching the sails come up out 
of the distance, or drift away into distance — the 
distance so blue, the sails so white in sun, 
so dark in shadow ! Noon came and they were 
hungry, but then, oh joy ! a fisher’s boat came 
ashore, and the fishers gave the children several 
fish, and some matches and paper. They gath- 
ered dry drift, made a fire, cooked the fish af- 
ter a fashion and thought it delicious. At 
night they slept under an up-turned boat, but 
awoke very cold, stiff and hungry, and only 
five miles nearer Copenhagen than they had 
been the day before. Gerda began to cry; 
she seemed to be losing her elastic courage. 

“ Don’t cry, Gerda,” said Lars; “ you know 
I have yet my rix-dollar. Come, Thune is less 
than three miles off, inland, let us go there, and 
we will go in an eating house and I will buy 
you a great big hot breakfast; coffee and stewed 
meat, and potato. After that we will go 
direct to Roeskild. Roeskild is only ten miles 
from Thune, and only fifteen from Copenhagen. 
I found it all on the map. Doh’t you believe 


1 58 Fru Dagmars Son. 

you could walk to Roeskild before night ? We 
won’t go by the beach, we play too much, and 
the sand is hard to walk in. Come, I’ll have 
enough of my dollar left, after our breakfast, 
to pay for our lodging at Roeskild. Wash your 
face and comb your hair, Gerda, and we will 
walk on fast, and warm ourselves, and you’ll 
feel better.” 

Gerda cheered up at this programme, and 
as Thune proved to be only two miles off, 
they were soon there, and seated before a 
hot breakfast. 

But oh, that was a long road to Roeskild ! 
Somehow Gerda could not get on; her heart 
and her feet seemed equally heavy, and by dark 
they had made only seven miles, and Roeskild 
was yet three miles away. After inquiring for 
shelter at several cottages, Lars found an old 
woman, living by herself, who agreed to give 
them lodging and supper and breakfast. The 
old woman seemed friendly, excusing herself 
for receiving money from them, by saying that 
she was very poor. In the morning she said if 
Lars would bring her some fuel from the neigh- 
boring beech wood, she would bake some rye 
crumpets for them to carry with them for dinner. 

“ We shall surely get to Copenhagen to- 
morrow, Gerda/’ said Lars noting the melan^ 


Fve Killed My Aunt Henrietta .” i59 


choly face of his companion, as they neared 
Roeskild, “ and then the nice times you will 
have at your Aunt Henrietta's will pay you 
for all. She don’t think you are so near, does 
she ? I wonder if she is sitting with her dog 
and her cat, or if, as it is a splendid day, she 
has gone out to ride ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” said poor Gerda dolefully. 
“ What is this coming ? ” 

“ It is a funeral procession,” said Lars; “ let 
us sit down here by the hedge and watch it go 
by. I saw a grave-yard just up the road.” 

Accordingly Lars and Gerda sat down close 
under shelter of the tall hedge, just freshened 
by the green of spring. The chaise with the 
clergyman headed the procession, then came a 
cart with eight men, next the hearse, then 
numerous carts and chaises, and about fifty 
people on foot. Nearly every one had a few 
flowers to scatter into or around the grave. 
Funerals are well attended in Denmark ; in all 
well-to-do country families they are observed 
by a two days' feast. During this feast much 
of the mourning is banished with tale and song. 
The custom is a survival of the old Norse reli- 
gion, and is sung in the Sagas. Lars listened 
to the chanting of the funeral hymn, but Gerda 
began to sob. 


160 Frii Bagmans Son . 

“ We’ll die in Copenhagen, I know!” she cried. 

“ Well, we must all die sometime, and 
somewhere,” said Lars philosophically. “ I don’t 
want to die in an almshouse or a hospital, and 
I mean to earn money so I won’t. You needn’t 
be afraid, your Aunt Henrietta lb will take 
care of you if you are sick.” 

The funeral had gone by, but still the children 
sat in the sun under the fragrant shelter of the 
hedge. Lars felt sleepy, bees buzzed about 
his head, and shrill crickets called at his feet 
He put his bundle on his knees, laid his head 
upon it, and dozed. But into his somnolence 
stole sounds of woe, of violent and painful sob- 
bing. He started up, Gerda was gone. He 
listened. The sobbing was from behind the 
hedge, the voice was Gerda’s. A yard or two 
off was a hole in the hedge. Gerda must have 
crawled through there. Lars went to the open- 
ing, got on his knees, and thrust his head and 
shoulders through the hedge. There sat Gerda, 
a little way from him, on a big stone. Her 
face was in her lap, her long striped apron was 
flung up over her head and shoulders, her arms 
circled her knees, her little brown hands worked 
convulsively, and her sobbing pitifully shook 
all her small frame. Aghast at such excess of 
grief from the generally buoyant and self- 


I've Killed My Aunt Henrietta I 1 6 1 


asserting Gerda, Lars could not speak, but still 
on his hands and knees, with his head thrust 
through the hedge, like the head of an observant 
dog, he endeavored to grasp the situation, 
and devise a remedy for Gerda’s woe. But 
what was the cause of woe ? 

“ Gerda,” he said finally, “ Gerda! Gerda! ! ’’ 
As she did not heed, “ I say Gerda ! whatever 
are you crying about ? ” 

No answer, only intensified weeping. Lars 
grew desperate. 

“ Gerda ! Gerda, are you sick ? ” 

“ N-o-o-o-o,”sobbed Gerda. 

“ Are you mad at me, Gerda? Have I done 
anything ? ” 

“ N-o-o-o-o,” moaned the inconsolable Gerda. 
“ Well, what is the matter? Tell me quick ! 
Speak ! If you don’t tell me — I'll — I’ll go down 
the road and leave you alone — I’ll — I’ll say you 
are a coward — and I knew it would turn out 
this way. Do you wish you were back with 
Frii Heitzen ? I knew you would ! ” 

Gerda dropped the sheltering apron and 
turned a red, swollen, tearful face to Lars. She 
tried several times to speak — 

“ Oh — it’s — it’s worse than that ! Oh dear, 
oh dear, what shall I do ? I’ve killed my Aunt 
Henrietta ! ” 


162 


Frii Dagmars Son. 


“ Killed your Aunt Henrietta ! ” shouted 
Lars, looking all about, and seeing no signs 
of carnage on the fresh spring sward. “ Gerda, 
are you crazy? What do you mean ? Killed 
your Aunt Henrietta ! Why, girl, you must be 
dreaming. She’s in Copenhagen, in her fine 
house, with her cat and her dog, and her big 
china stove.” 

“ No, no, she’s not — Lve killed her! She’s 
gone. Oh Lars, there isn’t any Aunt Henrietta 
lb. There is no one for me to go to in Copen- 
hagen, no one to find you a place. There isn’t 
any Aunt Henrietta — for — I made my Aunt 
Henrietta.’’ 

“ You made her ? ” said Lars, “ what do you 
mean ? ” 

“ I made her. I pretended her. She is all 
make-believe, and she was so nice, and it made 
me feel so much better, to have a rich Aunt 
Henrietta, and I thought about her so much — 
oh, I felt as if I really, truly had her — but now 
— I’ve given her up. I’ve killed her — she’s 
gone ! ” 

During this explanation, Lars, still on his 
knees, felt cold chills creeping over him, as he 
faced his future desolated of the goodly presence 
of Aunt Henrietta. Bereaved of her, life seemed 
a spectre cold and pale, that threatened him. 


“ I've Killed My Aunt Henrietta .” 163 

What now in all his environment could be 
relied on ? He had never heard that all that 
is, is but the figment of our thought, a percept 
of our ego, but it seemed to him that if Aunt 
Henrietta, fat and genial in a satin dress, was 
but a breath, mere air, if her big house and her 
china stove were dreams, if her dog and her 
cat were not even so much as stuffed skins, but 
nonentities, there could be nothing- in the world 
assured and true, firm enough foundation 
whereon to build a hope, or fix faith. 

Stunned and dazed by the enormity of the 
situation, he dimly realized that Gerda, rent by 
passionate sobbing, was feeling even more un- 
happy than himself. Reft of her Aunt Henri- 
etta, whom had she left? He went to her, put 
his arms about her, pulled the apron from her 
little capped head, and asked, — “ Oh, Gerda, 
why did you do it ? ” 

“ I had to do it,” moaned Gerda. “ I was so 
lonesome ! I wanted somebody — and — and I 
made Aunt Henrietta, thinking that would be 
so nice, and make me so happy, and she’s 
gone! ” 

No mourners in the funeral train that had just 
passed wept more heartily, nor felt a keener 
sense of loss and need then Lars and Gerda, 
suddenly deprived of Aunt Henrietta. Forlorn 


164 


Fru Dagmars Son. 


in the shadow of the hedge, they sat and be- 
wailed, following with tearful eyes a coffin, a 
hearse, a funeral cortege. And yet, this dead 
aunt whom they lamented had never existed, 
and coffin, hearse and funeral train were prod- 
ucts of their own fancy. 



CHAPTER X. 


JENS IVESON AND THE BLUE-EYED MAID. 

“ Heaven forming each on other to depend , 

A master , or a servant , or a friend , 

Bids each on other for assistance call , 

Till one man's weakness grows the strength of all, n 

The ears of Lars and Gerda were so filled 
with their own mourning, that they could not 
hear the sturdy tramp of a pair of big sabots 
down the Roeskild road. Their eyes were so 
dimmed by tears, and their heads so bowed 
earthward, that they could not see a pair of big 
muscular shoulders, a tawny-forked beard, a 
bronzed face and a pair of keen, kindly grey eyes 
that leaned over the hedge, attracted by their 
sobs and sighs. But only the dead or totally deaf 
could have failed to hear the loud challenge — 
“ What’s to pay, youngsters ? Who’s been 
hurting you ? Have you lost anything ? Did 
you run away from school ? ” 

Up sprang Lars at these words, dashed 
through the break in the hedge, and, clasping 


1 66 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


his arms about the intruder on their grief, 
shouted — “Jens! Jens Iveson ! ” 

“ What, what! ’’ cried Jens. “ You here, my 
boy ? You here, Lars! Frii Dagmars son away 
off here on the road to Copenhagen ? Where 
are you going ? ” 

“ To Copenhagen, to look for work,” said 
Lars. 

“ And what little girl is this, crying with you 
behind the hedge ? Is she lost ? What is she 
crying about ? ” • 

“ It is Gerda Palle, and her aunt was Uncle 
Kars’ wife, and we have both run away from 
Korsor. She is crying over her Aunt — Hen- 
rietta — Gerda! I say, Gerda! stop crying! 
Never mind if your Aunt Henrietta is dead, we 
can get along without her.” 

“ Crying because her aunt is dead ? ” said Jens 
compassionately — “ and do I hear you speaking 
that way about one’s dead kin ? I never thought 
Frii Dagmar’s son could be so hard hearted.’’ 

“ But, Jens — she wasn’t a really true aunt, 
only make-believe.” 

“ But adopted aunts are very kind sometimes,” 
said Jens. 

“ No, no, Jens, not even adopted. There 
was never any Aunt Henrietta at all, 'but a make- 
up, and — and now — and — ” 


Jens Iveson and the Blue- Eyed Maid, 1 67 

“ Come out here, little girl,” cried Jens, “come 
out, and tell me all your trouble. I’ll look after 
you. Let’s see about all this.” 

Gerda crawled through the hedge, and Jens 
seating himself on the roadside took her on his 
knee, and wiped her eyes and wet cheeks on 
the long ends of his neck- kerchief. “There,” he 
said, “tell me all about it. Where was your 
aunt ? ” x 

“ I didn’t have any,” began Gerda, “ only, I 
was lonesome, and liked to pretend things to 
myself, and to tell Lars nice stories, and so I 
said there was an Aunt Henrietta; I played there 
was.” 

“ See here,” interrupted Lars, “ let me ex- 
plain it. Jens, you must know that Gerda is a 
very good girl, and it is not that she tells any 
lies, nor wants to deceive, for she don’t. But 
you see, Gerda hadn’t any relations, or any 
one to be nice to her, and no mother to pet 
her any, and so she began to think how nice 
an Aunt Henrietta would be, and she kept on 
thinking, until she most believed, and she told 
me so honest, that I truly believed there was 
one, when there wasn’t. Just, you see, as it is 
when you’re real hungry, you think of good 
things to eat, and you imagine all about a nice 
big dinner, and how it tastes, and all, you know.” 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


1 68 


“ No, I don’t know,” said big Jens shaking 
his head; “ whenever I have been hungry I’ve 
had somewhat solid to eat, sure enough.” 

“ Then you never lived with Uncle Kars,” 
said Lars with conviction. 

“ Where is that shriveled, mean, half-made, 
Bible-selling old heathen?” demanded Jens, 
with infinite frankness. 

“ I’d better begin at the beginning, and tell 
you the whole story” said Lars, “ then you’ll 
know how it all is,” and forthwith he began to 
rehearse the Iliad of his woes, and Gerda, 
comfortably resting against Jens’ shoulder, only 
interrupted when it was necessary to add a 
deeper blackness to the character and conduct 
of Uncle Kars, or depict in more heart-rending 
colors the sufferings of Lars, or her own deep 
disgust at the tenor of her life with Frii 
Heitzen. 

“ And so you see,” said Lars, “ I knew I 
ought not to stay there any longer. I’d grow 
to be just like him perhaps.” 

“ Stay ? I should say not ! You stayed long 
enough. What! the son of Frii Dagmar living 
with a drunken miser! That would never do,” 
cried Jens. 

“ And I thought Gerda’s Aunt Henrietta 
would help me to get work in Copenhagen, and 


Jens Iveson and the Blue- Eyed Maid . 1 69 

so I came away, and then Gerda came too, to 
go to her Aunt Henrietta,” continued Lars, for 
Aunt Henrietta had been to him so long a real 
personage that he could not at once reduce 
her to a myth, and in his story Aunt Henrietta 
had had so large a part that she had been in 
the rehearsel re- invested with all her reality, 
and he for the nonce believed in her as an en- 
tity. 

Jens meditated in silence for a while, his hon- 
est mind worked slowly, finally he said : “I’ll 
tell you, boy, a better thing by half. You re- 
member that when our father died we sold our 
eight acres, to Gaardmand Bauer, and with the 
proceeds and his savings Thorrold went to 
America. Since then, I have sent him all my 
earnings also. Thorrold went to a great state 
called Missouri. Missouri is four times as 
large as all Denmark, though it is only a small 
piece of America. It is almost never cold there. 
The stock can feed out of doors nearly all win- 
ter ; the grain and vegetables grow like mira- 
cles, and nobody is poor there. Thorrold has 
prospered wonderfully there. He has bought 
land and a house.” 

“ He is a Husmand there, then ? ” said Lars. 

“ A Husmand ! ” said Jens, with great scorn, 
“ better than that.’’ 


170 Frii Dagmars Son. 

“ So ! A Parcelist then ? ” suggested Lars. 

“ A Parcelist ! Nothing so low down as that, 
I promise you,” replied Jens loftily. “ He is a 
Gaardmand, and a bigger one than we have in 
Denmark. He has two hundred acres of noble 
land, spread out flat as a table, rich as cheese, 
and with a stream of water flowing along it, and 
a belt of woods. Now, Lars, I am on my way 
to Copenhagen, to sail in the ship ‘ Danmark ’ for 
New York, as I am to share all with Thorrold, 
for we bought this together. You shall come 
with me. This will be a fine thing for you, 
and, as you know English, it will be fine for us. 
Thorrold will be glad to see Frii Dagmar’s son, 
and no doubt you will so prosper that in time 
you will be a Herremand, as you have learning 
in your head, and Herremand blood in your 
veins. I can manage enough for your fare, 
and when you are with me,” and Jens held out 
a brawny arm, “ no one will dare put upon you.” 

“ Oh ” — said Lars with a long breath — “ but 
Gerda ! What will Gerda do ? ” 

“ Gerda ? oh she can go to her Aunt Henri- 
etta,” replied Jens, completely beguiled by the 
verisimilitude of Lars’ story. 

“ But, Jens, haven’t I told you there is no 
real Aunt Henrietta? She was only a make- 
believe person, like a fairy, for instance.” 


yens Iveson and the Blue- Eyed Maid \ 1 7 1 

Brought back to the original statement of the 
case, Jens meditated again. It was hard for 
him to understand this. He had never heard 
of Schelling nor Fichte nor Hegel nor Idealism, 
nor concept nor percept, all he knew was plain 
matter-of-fact ; things were or they were not; if 
they were not, who should talk about them as 
if they were ? He could not grasp the situation 
that people should think and speak of the non- 
existent. If Aunt Henrietta lb had played so 
conspicuous a part in this story, surely she must 
be. 

Lars continued — “ What shall Gerda do ? 
She has no home and nobody to care for her. 
Can’t Gerda go to America too? ” 

“ Ah, ” said Jens — “ there’s the rub. Now 
I’d like such a nice pretty little maid about the 
house, and so would Thorrold, and so for sure 
would Gretchen Kirche. You know that 
Thorrold and Gretchen have been promised 
to marry, this five years ; and Gretchen has 
been nurse in a Herremand’s family in Copen- 
hagen, and she has been getting ready her 
household plenishing, and laying up a little 
purse, to furnish the house in Missouri, and to 
buy fowls and so on. Well, now all her gear 
is got ready, and Thorrold is able to marry, 
and I am to take Gretchen along with me, and 


1 72 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


they are to be married as soon as Thorrold 
meets us at a city called St. Louis. I make 
sure Gretchen would be glad of this little girl 
going with her, but — where’s the money ? It 
would take a broad gold piece. As we go by 
steerage, and I would share with you, and un- 
der fifteen you go half-price, I could manage 
for you, but I have not money to take two — 
there’s the worst of it.” 

“ If that is all the trouble,” cried Lars joy- 
fully — “ then Gerda can go ! I can pay for 
Gerda, and for myself — see here ! ” He thrust 
his hand into his bosom, and, pulling out the 
bag, took from it the chamois skin purse, and 
emptied on his palm three broad gold pieces, 
and held them before Jens and Gerda. Gerda 
shrieked in ecstacy at sight of so much money. 
Jens stared hard. 

“ My mother gave them to me,” said Lars, 
“ the night that she died. She told me not to 
let anybody know of it, but to keep it for some 
very great need. I’m sure she would like my 
letting you know of it, for you are my friend ; 
and there can’t be any greater need or better 
way to spend it than this ; can there ? ” 

“ The good Lord,” said Jens solemnly, “ must 
have put it into the Frii Dagmar’s heart to make 
a store of savings, and to trust you with it pri- 


Jens Iveson and the Blue- Eyed Maid . 1 73 

vately, and not give it to your wicked uncle. The 
good Lord foresees all our ways in this world, 
from the beginning, and He has foreseen that 
you should go to America with me, and should 
take this little girl, who has no friends, and we 
will be her friends in the land beyond the ocean. 
Now those three gold pieces are meant one to 
pay your fare, and one for the fare of the little girl, 
and one to take you across that very wide land, 
once we get there. And I will take the money 
I thought to pay for your fare, and I will buy 
you a caped-coat, and the little girl a shawl for 
ship-board.” 

“ Oh, am I to go to America! Am I to go 
and live where Lars does ! ” cried Gerda rapt- 
urously, smiles breaking over her lately wet 
and mournful face, as the sun gleams out after 
rain. “ Oh I am so happy ! This is much bet- 
ter than living with my rich Aunt Henrietta ! ” 
“ But perhaps your aunt — ” began Jens, and 
stopped. He was met by the remembrance 
that her aunt had never existed. 

“ You are the best boy/’ said Gerda to Lars. 
“ I will mend all your clothes, and knit all your 
stockings, and spin and weave — ” 

“ In America,” interrupted Jens, “ the women 
never spin or weave; they buy all cloth ready 
made, so Thorrold writes.” 


i74 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


'‘Never spin nor weave!" cried Gerda. 
“ Then what do they do? Do they sit idle with 
their hands in their laps, half the time? ” 

“ Perhaps," said Lars, “ they work out in 
the fields, as I hear they do in Germany. I 
should be sorry for that. To plow and dig is 
not work fit for girls or women." 

lt They do not work out of doors," said Jens, 
“ except as our Danish women do, when they 
choose, in their gardens ; or to feed their 
poultry, or see to the milking, and much of 
the milking is done by men. In America, 
Thorrold tells me, that when men are sober 
and industrious women have comfortable lives. 
But of course the wife of a drunkard never has an 
easy life, for her heart is always over-full, if her 
hands are not." 

“ Well, we are all Temperance people," said 
Lars, “ and I shall work hard, and Gerda shall 
go to school, and be a lady, the same as she 
would have done with Aunt Henrietta lb — if 
there had been any Aunt Henrietta," he added, 
slowly. 

“ I will help Frii Gretchen cook dinner for 
you, and Jens and all," said Gerda eagerly. 

“ Let us have dinner now," said Lars. “ I’m 
hungry. Jens, we have some rye crumpets." 

“ And I have a good lump of cheese, and a 


yens Iveson and the Blue- Eyed Maid. 1 7 5 

couple of dry herring,” said Jens; “so if you 
will get us a cup of water from the cottage over 
in the field, we will have our dinner, and then 
go on our way.” 

“ Shall we get to Copenhagen to-day ? ” 
asked Gerda, less fearful now of reaching the 
end of her journey across Zeeland. 

“ No,” said Jens, “ it will be too far for you to 
walk. We will stop at some Parcelist’s or 
Herremand’s, and Lars and I will sleep in the 
lodging with the Karles, and the housewife 
will give you a place in the house. By to- 
morrow noon we shall reach the home of 
Gretchen’s father. He is a Husmand, with 
six acres.” 

“ And when does the ship sail ? ” demanded 
Lars. 

“ Next Saturday morning, ’’ replied Jens. 
u We shall have just time to buy your passage 
and coat, and a tin cup, plate and spoon for each 
of you. Then, hurrah for the new world and 
the big state of Missouri, where we shall all be 
great Gaardmaend ! ” 

After their luncheon by the wayside, Lars 
and Gerda resumed their journey, now one on 
each side of the big Jens. Since the time 
when two hours before they sat down on the 
edge of the road to watch the funeral proces- 


176 


Frii Dagmars Son. 


sion, all the fashion of their future had changed. 
Aunt Henrietta was dead and buried, — and yet 
she kept obstinately forcing herself into the 
foreground of their thoughts, accompanied by 
her big house, her dog, her cat, and her china 
stove. Copenhagen did not now loom upon 
their horizon as a home ; it was merely a place 
to pass through, as they pressed to the greater 
home beyond seas. A new family was pro- 
posed to them, Thorrold, Jens, Gretchen, but 
Thorrold and Gretchen did not seem nearly as 
real to them as their mythic Aunt Henrietta. 
They could not tell what was the color of 
Gretchen’s hair, nor the fashion of her gown, 
but they knew Aunt Herrietta’s hair was white, 
and her gown was of black satin, and had a 
sweeping train like a lady in a picture ! 

At evening the three wayfarers were admitted 
to a Herremand’s farm quarters/and among the 
Karles Jens and Lars awakened much interest 
as en route for America, Jens being already 
partially a proprietor in that famous country, 
and Lars being able to speak English. 

Gerda also was feted in the Herremands 
kitchen, and the housekeeper carrying report to 
the mistress and her daughters, Gerda was sent 
for to the family sitting-room. She was such 
a tidy, sweet-voiced, dimpled little woman, that 


yens Iveson and the Blue- Eyed Maid . 1 77 

she made friends at once, and learning that 
she had no parents, and was being taken to 
America by the munificence of her cousin Lars, 
and that she had no baggage but the little bun- 
dle with a single change of clothing, there was 
a clamor that they must fit her out for 
America. 

Danish girls have ample store of clothing, 
and the housekeeper having a little niece of 
Gerda’s size, the Herremand’s lady and her 
daughters purchased for Gerda a new suit com- 
plete. They also gave her a pair of leather 
shoes, half a dozen kerchiefs, two aprons, and 
two pair of stockings, and not only a new cap, 
but a warm knit scarf to wrap about her head 
while at sea. Then the youngest of the Fro- 
ken tied on Gerda’s neck a goodly string of 
large blue beads, which Gerda thought worth 
all the other presents combined — except the 
leather shoes. She felt that already she was 
becoming the young lady Lars had said she 
should be, and she slept in happy indifference 
to her recent sad loss of Aunt Henrietta lb. 

The Herremand gave Lars and Gerda each 
a crown at parting, and wished them good 
fortune in their emigrant life. He was interested 
in the Thingvalla Line to which the steamship 
“ Danmark ” belonged, and told them that she 


178 Frit, Dagmars Son. 

was a good ship, with very kind officers and a 
good crew. 

Before noon Lars and his two companions 
came to the home of Gretchen Kirche. A 
thatched, square-built, four-roomed cottage in a 
garden surrounded by well-tilled fields, it was 
a pleasant place, but pleasanter yet to see was 
the sunny-faced Gretchen, in her quaint peas- 
ants dress, standing in the door and looking up 
the road, watching for her prospective brother- 
in-law. She ran to meet him crying — 

“Why, Jens! we looked for you yester 
evening, and now, seeing you come with 
these two children, I could not believe it was 
you.” 

By this time the parents of Gretchen, her 
little brother and her elder sister, were also out 
to welcome Jens Iveson. 

“ I waited because the children could not 
travel fast. They are to go to America with 
us, Gretchen. This lad is Lars, the son of 
Frii Dagmar, the best friend Thorrold and I 
ever had. We have told you of Frii Dagmar, 
who was as a mother to us, when our own 
mother died and we were wild boys.” 

“ Is this Frii Dagmars son ! ” cried the 
Kirche family. “ And he is to go to America 
with you ! Ah, that is well ! Good luck goes 


Jens Iveson and the Blue- Eyed Maid . 1 7 9 

with the son of a good mother. And who is 
the little maid ? ” 

“ She is Lars’ cousin, or something near a 
cousin,” said Jens, “ and he takes her because 
she is a lonely orphan, and I make sure 
Gretchen will be giad to have her along.” 

“ Indeed I will ! ” said the amiable Gretchen. 
“ She looks a dear little girl,” and she took 
Gerda in her arms, and kissed her. 

“ For my part,” said the mother, “ I’m glad a 
Danish girl is to go with Gretchen. Time was 
we fancied Lisbet would go, but Lisbet has 
other plans now, and it is much better. I shall 
not be left alone of my daughters.” 

Lisbet looked down, blushing, and pulling her 
apron. She was a very beautiful girl, and was 
to marry a Gaardmands son, which was a great 
honor, and in Denmark a very romantic inci- 
dent. Frii Kirche was very proud of the suc- 
cess of her daughters. 

After dinner, — which lasted a long time, for in 
honor of Jens there was a roast goose, the same 
as if it had been New Year’s, and it took a long # 
while to tell the curious adventures of Lars and 
Gerda, and all the family were much mystified 
about Aunt Henrietta lb, and could not under- 
stand about her, and finally gave her up, as they 
did tales of Kobold or Nix, — after dinner, all 


180 Frii Dagmars Son. 

went into the best front room to see the outfit of 
Gretchen, which was spread on chairs and beds, 
ready for packing after a final exhibit. Gretchen, 
her mother, grandmother, aunts and cousins, had 
had this plenishing in view for five years, and 
bed and table linen, counter-panes, blankets 
and clothing, had been added as they had op- 
portunity. The Herremand’s family where 
Gretchen had been nurse, had given her many 
little trinkets, and proudest of their gifts, a hand- 
some family Bible, and a purse of seven pieces 
of gold. The old grandmother came in from 
an adjoining cottage to admire and re-admire 
Gretchen’s trousseau. She tied about the girl’s 
neck a string of solid gold beads saying: 

“ There, these were mine at my wedding, 
and you shall have them, since you are going 
far from your native land, and I do not wish the 
foreign strangers to think we are poor in Den- 
mark. Your eldest sister has the beads of 
your mother’s mother, and you have mine. 
Promise me to fasten to them your bag of gold, 
and never take the two off, till you stand in the 
house of your husband, with God’s blessing." 


CHAPTER XI. 


THE SAILING OF THE SHIP. 

“ There's a track upon the deep 
And a path across the sea , 

But the weary ne'er return 
7 o their ain countree ! " 

In the afternoon the relatives and friends of 
Gretchen Kirche came in to see her in her 
bridal dress, since they could not see her when 
she was married. Lars and Gerda thought the 
peasant maid looked quite as pretty as Friilien 
Lotze. Gretchen wore a skirt of dark green 
woollen, short enough to show a pair of red 
morocco slippers with steel buckles: her waist 
was of white muslin, fine and full, and over it 
an open jacket of black broadcloth, with flow- 
ing sleeves. The sleeves and the wide collar 
of the jacket were embroidered in red and gold, 
and she wore a wide red belt, also worked in 
gold. The little green cloth cap which partly 
covered the blond hair bound in thick braids 
about her head, was also worked on the edge 


182 


Frii Dagmars Son. 


with gold thread; about her neck lay he* grand- 
mother’s gold beads. 

The lace cap and thin gold band which be- 
longed to the mother was reserved for Lisbet, 
the elder girl, but that did not matter, for 
Thorrold had written that in America brides did 
not wear wedding crowns. 

After the exhibition of the wedding dre9«, 
and plentiful shedding of tears by the mother, 
grandmother, Lisbet and the aunts and cousins, 
the Kirche family began to look on the bright 
side of affairs. 

“ Thorrold is a good young man and pros- 
perous.” 

“ Gretchen is twenty-one, and knows how to 
take care of herself.’’ 

“ And to think Lisbet is to marry a Gaard- 
mand, on her twenty-third birthday ! ” 

“ They get so rich in America, Gretchen will 
be coming home to visit in ten years, and ten 
years soon pass.” 

“ She goes far, but she does not go beyond 
the care of the good Lord who is over all.” 

“ The waters are wide, but God holds them 
in His hand.” 

“ Rachel left her own land and her fathers 
house to go to Isaac.” 

“ Jens is to go with her, and this pretty boy 


The Sailing of the Ship . 183 

and girl; she will not be over-lonely, though it 
is true there is no one like a mother." 

“ She will write every two or three weeks. 
How proud you will be of the letters, Frii 
Kirche! ” 

After the administration of these consola- 
tions, Gretchen, aided by kinsfolks, packed the 
great oak chests. 

Next morning the chests were taken on a 
cart to Copenhagen, and Jens and Lars went 
along, and purchased for Lars a caped coat of 
a bottle green, and for Gerda a big red and 
black plaid shawl. 

Meanwhile at the cottage Gerda washed and 
mended all her clothes, and those of Lars, and 
made two bags of oil cloth, of a piece given 
Gretchen by the Herremand’s wife, and these 
bags were to hold all her and Lars’ possessions. 
When Lars returned from Copenhagen, Frii 
Kirche said that as he was going far, and was 
a good Danish boy, she would give him two 
shirts and two pair of stockings, which she had 
just made for her youngest son. She should 
have time enough to make Zander some more, 
before he went to the joiner’s to learn his trade 
in the fall." 

“ I’m afraid you rob yourself, Frii," said Lars 
anxiously. 


184 Frii Dagmars Son . 

u Not a bit of it,” replied Frii Kirche. “ Does 
it not say in the Good Book, ‘ There is that giv- 
eth and yet increaseth ; there is that withholdeth 
more than is meet, and it tendeth to poverty 7 ? ” 

“ And you are to be a joiner ? ” said Lars to 
Zander. 

“ Yes," said Zander, “ it is a good trade and 
I like to use tools. The cousin of our next 
Gaardmand’s wife is a distiller, and he offered 
to take me ; he said distilling is a good and 
easy business, and one could make plenty of 
money at it. But my father says no — it is not 
a good business, for it makes what makes men 
idle, quarrelsome, poor and wicked. It makes 
drunkards, and drunkards cannot inherit the 
kingdom of God, and my father wishes to 
see no Danes shut out of that kingdom. Also, 
my mother says that it is written in the Good 
Book, ‘Woe to him that giveth his neighbor 
drink, that putteth thy bottle to him, and mak- 
est him drunken/ and if it is woe to give any 
one your bottle, it must be woe to make the 
bad stuff that is in the bottle, for a bottle is only 
bad from what is in it; don’t you see ? So, 
though the distiller makes plenty of money 
easy, I’m not to be one; my father says it is 
better to have a trade that builds up, than one 
that pulls down/’ 


1 85 


The Sailing of the Ship. 

“ I'm glad you told me all that,” said Lars, 
“ for when I look for work in America, I will now 
remember not to be a distiller. Of course I 
would have known not to go in a shop to sell 
drink, but I might not have thought equal 
wrong of the distillery. Sometimes we don’t 
see the wrong as much on the big side of things 
as on the little side. The bigness makes it 
look sort of respectable.” 

Jens and the children had reached the home 
of Gretchen Kirche on Thursday noon; early 
Saturday morning they were all to set forth in 
two carts for Copenhagen, as the ship was to 
sail at eleven. 

Soon after breakfast, Gerda beckoned to Lars 
and led him around behind the house. 

“ Lars,” she said solemnly, “ we are going 
to a far-off land, over the big sea, and we have 
no money, and no one to take care of us but 
God. I have heard Fru Korner and Fru Heit- 
zen say, that if you get on your knees before 
you do any great thing, and say the Lords 
prayer over you, it will bring you good fortune, 
and the Lord will remember you. Yesterday 
at dinner, I heard Herr Kirche tell his cousin, 
that when a man named Thorwaldsen, first 
went away from home, and bid his grandmother 
good-bye, he got on his knees behind a wall 


1 86 Fru Dagmars Son . 

and said the Lords prayer, and that after that, 
he became the greatest son of Denmark. I 
don’t know just what he did, but it was some- 
thing very great. Don’t you think we’d better 
say the Lord’s prayer too, Lars ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Lars, “ I think we had. I think 
my mother would have liked me to do that. 
She and I used to say it together every morn- 
ing.” 

So down on their knees went Lars and Gerda, 
to say their prayer, and Fru Kirche in the room 
above, helping her daughter to get dressed, 
heard the murmur of voices, and looked out of 
the window. Her eyes were so dim with tears 
that at first she could not see plainly, but then 
the tears cleared away, and she saw the two 
kneeling figures, and the two heads reverently 
bent, while Lars held his cap in one hand, and 
Gerda’s little red hands were folded over the 
bosom of her homespun gown. 

“ Gretchen, Gretchen child,” whispered Frii 
Kirche, “ come here and look ! Have no fear 
for the ship nor for the voyage, for the good 
Lord will surely watch over the wood which 
carries these two of His dear little children, bless 
their hearts ! ’’ 

“ Gretchen ! Gretchen ! ” cried her aunt's 
voice from the kitchen, “ here is great news for 


The Sailing of the Ship . 187 

you. Zander Linnie has sent money for his wife 
Marie. Zander has found a fine place for him- 
self, and Marie has made up her affairs in a 
hurry, and her uncle has spoken to the ship’s 
clerk, that she shall have the berth next beside 
yours, and she is going in the ‘Danmark.’ She 
would hardly dare start now, only you are go- 
ing, and she is so longing to see Zander.” 

“Your friend Marie going ! ” cried Lisbet. 
4 ‘ Oh how nice, Gretchen ! ’’ 

“ You will need take great care of Marie,” 
said Frii Kirche. 

And now the carts were at the door. The 
Kirche family rode in one, and Jens, the chil- 
dren, and Gretchen’s aunt, uncle and cousin in 
the other. Gretchen and her mother and sis- 
ter were crying. 

“ I do not wonder,’’ said the aunt, “ that my 
sister cries at parting with her daughter, for so 
far and so long, but things are very much better 
for emigrants now than they were when I was 
young. In those days the steerage passengers 
took all their own beds and bedding and food. 
The ships were very slow. It took from four 
to six weeks to reach America, and no one 
knew just how long it would be. As the peo- 
ple took their own food, it very often happened 
that their provisions gave out, while they were 


1 88 Frii Dagmars Son . 

yet far from port. Then, to keep them from 
dying with hunger, the ship’s steward gave 
them something, often refuse and half-spoiled 
food, left over from the cabin, and between 
hunger and bad fare, cholera and fevers broke 
out, and many a good Scandinavian died at 
sea, or reached the New World only to get a 
grave instead of a home. But new laws were 
made, and the shipping companies were re- 
quired to furnish beds, and keep the steerage 
clean and well aired, and to provide food, 
which is ordered and inspected by law, so it 
shall be wholesome and plenty. Now too the 
Thingvalla Line can get to New York in two 
weeks, or even a day less, so you see the dan- 
ger and trouble and time are all far less, and 
yet the price is also less. Ah, the world is a 
power better managed than it was when I was 
young. I have been telling my sister, that go- 
ing from one country to another is now so easy, 
that she and Gretchen can look to visiting each 
other as readily as one went from Zeeland to 
Jutland, when I was young. Friends of mine 
have written me, that all in the steerage is kept 
as orderly and clean as in your own home. 
The men have their berths on one side, the 
women on the other, with the eating room be- 
tween, and the steerage is in the best and saf- 


The Sailing of the Ship . 189 

est part of the ship, and steerage passengers 
are always let land first. My friend also wrote 
that no drinking nor carousing nor quarreling 
is allowed in the steerage, and on Sundays they 
have a sermon, and every night they have games 
and singing and dancing or story-telling, as 
merry as you please. Oh, going to America is a 
very nice thing now, compared to what it was 
when I was young.” 

To those thrifty Danes, Jens Iveson and Gret- 
chen Kirche, it would have seemed a reckless 
waste of money to go in the cabin or in 
the intermediate, instead of in the steerage. 
“ Why,” they would have asked, “ should they 
spend good money in a little extra luxury in 
travelling, instead of keeping it to buy furni- 
ture, pigs and poultry, in their new home ? 
Would not the steerage passengers get there 
as safely and as speedily as the other passen- 
gers? Why then waste their money, merely 
to have carpets and table-cloths and sweet- 
meats and desserts ? Good tea, coffee, bread, 
butter, potatoes, turnips, and meat, would be 
'served out to them, and on Sunday’s a good 
boiled pudding, — what did people need more ? 
If one wanted luxuries, one might carry some 
peffer cakes and a jar of barberry preserves for 
themselves, or a boiled ham to serve as a relish, 


igo Fru Dagmars Son. 

or a roll of sausage.” So reasoned most of the 
Danish emigrants who were to sail by the “Dan- 
mark.” 

Arrived at the wharf where the Thingvalla 
Line ship “ Danmark” lay, our party found the 
decks already crowded, and the wharf thronged 
with emigrants, their baggage, their friends, 
the vehicles in which they had come ; the 
freight destined for the “ Danmark.” 

Jens engineered his party skilfully through 
the piers, found the clerk, exhibited the tickets, 
and escorted the Kirche family down to the 
women’s side of the steerage, to the berth he 
had obtained for Gretchen. The berth of 
Gerda was above that of Gretchen, and next 
Gretchen’s berth was one, on the edge of which 
sat a young woman, crying, and an elderly wo- 
man with her arm about her, comforting her 
with — “ There, there, my dear, only think how 
glad you’ll be to see Zander, and how well he 
has done to be sure, in six months, and little 
over ! Don’t cry, dear ! ” 

These were Fru Marie Linnie, aged nineteen, 
and her aunt. 

Fru Kirche at once proceeded to make up 
Gretchen’s berth with the bedding she had 
brought, sparing a good brown blanket for Ger- 
da, and telling her to use her shawl also at 


The Sailing of the Ship . 19 1 

night, for a covering. Gretchen and Lisbet 
began to cheer up Marie, while Jens and Herr 
Kirche went with Lars to the men’s part of 
the steerage, where Jens had secured two berths 
as near as he could to the women’s side, so 
as to be not too far from his charge, Gretchen, 
Marie and Gerda. 

When all was put in order below, the entire 
party went out upon the deck to watch the 
final preparations for the sailing of the ship. 
As they stood there, Lars saw a little three- 
year old child that had escaped from its over- 
burdened mother, and, being crowded back, was 
almost under the feet of the dray horses. As 
the ship lay close along the wharf, he scrambled 
over the side, and rescuing the little one, carried 
it back on his shoulder and reached it up to 
Jens, just in time to silence a great clamor from 
the mother, for her missing youngster. 

“ Well done, my lad,” said a hearty voice from 
above, and looking up Lars saw a big jolly 
faced man with a gold band about his cap. 

Lars took off* his own cap, and made a low 
bow. 

“ Is it the captain ? ” he asked of Jens. 

“ No,” said an old sailor near by, who was 
storing some rope. “No, lad, it is Engineer 
Haas, and a mighty fine man too.” 


192 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


“ Are you off for America with your parents ? ” 
said Engineer Haas, leaning over to speak to 
Lars. 

“ I am off to America to try and make my 
fortune,” said Lars; “ but I have no parents. I 
am going with friends.” 

“ And is that your sister ? ” nodding at Gerda, 
who clung to Lars’ jacket pocket, to prevent 
further expeditions to the quai. 

“No, sir. She is — well — a kind of cousin, 
and she has no one in the world but me. I mean 
to take care of her.” 

“ He gave half his money to bring me along,” 
spoke up Gerda; “ he is the best boy that ever 
lived, and his name is Lars Waldsen.” 

Mr. Haas laughed. 

“ That is a very pretty pair of children,” he 
said to the second officer, who stood near him. 
“ There are many childless parents who would 
be proud of such a boy and girl. I’m most 
sorry to see so many good Danes go out of 
the fatherland. But Denmark is small, and 
America is very large.” 

Finally the rushing and crowding on the 
wharf abated a little. The stream of people 
that had set in toward the ship began to turn ; 
the friends who stayed in the homeland were 
taking leave of the emigrants. Marie Linnie’s 


The Sailing of the Ship . 193 

aunt kissed her a final good-bye, and left Marie 
crying in Gretchen’s arms. Then a voice 
sounded through the ship, commanding all who 
had not tickets to go ashore. This was the 
signal for the Kirche family to make an onset 
on Gretchen, hugging, blessing and kissing her, 
overwhelming her with advice and parting 
words. Marie, Lars and Gerda drew away, and 
sat down by themselves, and Jens stood with 
folded arms and sympathetic face, much over- 
come by the Kirche grief. Finally he shouted 
out: “ Don’t break your hearts this way, good 
people ; think of Thorrold waiting on the other 
side ! The girl goes because she’s willing, and 
you’ll all sing another tune, when she and 
Thorrold get rich and come home for a visit, 
and bring two or three pretty little boys and 
girls with them.” 

A Danish pastor, going out with a large 
colony of his flock, to Minnesota, came by at 
this moment, and laying his hand on Frii 
Kirche’s shoulder said, “ Good woman, the girl 
is not going out of God’s sight, though she 
goes out of yours. The God of her fathers 
will go with her, and we are none of us far from 
each other, when we are all watched over by 
Him.” 

“ That is true, good wife,” said Herr Kirche 


194 


Fru Dagmars Son . 


with a broken voice, “ and we ought to be brave 
enough to wish the child a cheerful good-bye. 
You left your father’s house in Jutland, to come 
with me, and you have not repented of it, and 
our girl goes to an honest, sober man, who will 
give her a good welcome, and use her well.” 

Thus exhorted on all hands, Frii Kirche sum- 
moned up her courage and kissed Gretchen 
good-bye. Lars and Jens watched with interest 
the Kirche family making their way back to the 
carts, but Gerda was occupied in wiping with 
one of her new kerchiefs the pale cheeks of 
Marie, and Gretchen, though her face was 
turned shoreward, could not see for tears. Jens 
stepped to her side, put his arm around her, 
and waved his hand to Herr Kirche ; Lars, on 
the other side, took Gretchen’s hand, and waved 
his cap to her parents. The pretty Danish girl 
looked well protected between the stalwart Jens 
and the handsome boy. 

“ Do not cry, my little sister,’ 7 said Jens; “ it 
is the way of the world that young birds should 
fly from the nest, else no other nests would be 
built, and all the woods would be desolate.’’ 

And after that good Jens spoke to Gretchen by 
no other name than “ my little sister.” 

And now the “ Danmark ” was free of her 
moorings, and began to swing out into the 


The Sailing of the Ship . 195 

stream. She had on board seven hundred 
steerage passengers, twenty-one intermediate, 
eighteen cabin passengers, and sixty-one in the 
crew. Out into the sound dropped the “ Dan- 
mark,” and from the sound to the Cattegat, 
and night fell before they had left Kullen Head 
behind, and the shores of Sweden and Den- 
mark had dropped beneath the sea. 

Those emigrants, and they were many, who 
had left kindred behind, saw the land and the 
shipping in the sound, large and dim through 
their tears. The few who went as entire fami- 
lies, were full of hope and joy, and turned smil- 
ing faces toward that New World of fabulous 
wealth, which should welcome them as children. 

“ Oh Jens,” sobbed Gretchen, “ people should 
not go away from the fatherland in this way, by 
one or two ; they should all go together ! ” 

“ With emigrating it is as with dying,’' said 
the practical Jens, “ it is not usual for families 
all to go at once. But think how lonely poor 
Thorrold was, who went all alone to a world 
where he had not a friend, and when he knew 
it would be four or five or even more years be- 
fore any of us could come to him.” 

“ Oh,” said Marie, “ it seems as if, if I could 
just get safe once to my husband, I’d not ask 
for another thing ! ” 


196 Frii Dagmars Son. 

“ Never fear,’ 7 said Jens, “ we are all in God’s 
keeping.” 

The night closed in, the lanterns were lit 
here and there, flaming along the darkness of 
the deck and steerage. Through the quieting 
groups passed the Danish pastor in his gown 
and ruff, a calm picture out of the life of the 
fatherland. 

“ My children,’’ he said, “ we are beginning 
a new life this day, let us all draw together and 
commend ourselves to God, that He may bring 
us to our desired haven.’’ 

Most of the steerage passengers crowded 
together on the deck, from the upper deck the 
cabin passengers and some of the ship’s officers 
looked down, foremost among them Engineer 
Haas, who had just come from his supper. The 
intermediate passengers stood outside the 
larger throng of the steerage. Then Pastor 
Hama lifted up his hand, and recited the Ninety- 
first Psalm and offered a prayer. Then slowly 
the people went to their berths, and in the 
increasing silence the “ Danmark " plowed her 
way along the Cattegat. 


CHAPTER XII. 


THE MAN WHO DIED AT HIS POST. 

0 

“ / saw the new moon late yes' treen y 
With the old moon in her arm , 

And if we gang to sea , master 
I fear we'll come to harm. ,} 

Herr Pastor Hama with three or four of the 
richer families of his flock, who were the leaders 
of the Danish colony, were the cabin passengers 
of the “ Danmark. v The pastor visited the 
steerage and intermediate passengers each day, 
and nightly had prayers on the lower deck. 

Jens speedily found some emigrants who had 
been to America and had returned horge for a 
visit, or to bring away their families, and he 
spent his time chiefly with them, learning all 
that he could of the crops, customs, manners, and 
habits of his future country. Marie Linnie was 
quite sick, and Gretchen remained by her berth 
much of the time, except when she could take 
pillows and blankets to the deck, and big Jens 
could carry the young wife there, where, rest- 
ing on her improvised bed, she could get 

197 


198 


Frii Dagmars Son. 


fresher air and be entertained by seeing what 
was going on. Gerda found plenty of children 
to play with, though she liked best to linger 
with Gretchen and Marie, and hear their talk. 
As for Lars, he showed his ancient Viking 
blood. The sea seemed to be to him a natural 
home. The higher the wind blew, and the 
more the “ Danmark ” pitched or rolled, the 
better Lars liked it. He went by special license 
to every part of the ship. He climbed the 
masts like a monkey, to the admiration of the 
sailors: he plunged into the depths among the 
stokers: he made particular friends with the 
engineers, whose sleeping quarters and mess 
room were next the steerage, and they often 
called him in to talk with them, or to dine with 
them. The cabin passengers, leaning over from 
the upper deck, talked to the handsome jolly 
boy and dropped apples, oranges, cakes or bags 
of figs and nuts to him, which he shared with 
Gerda and her attendant train of children. The 
officers of the ship talked with him, and advised 
him to be a sailor. Hour after hour Lars 
might be seen waiting on sick and feeble old 
dames, or carrying about the crying babies of 
sick mothers. As a nurse he was unsurpassa- 
ble, and could carry two babies at once, and 
soothe the most belligerent spirits. But of all 


The Man who Died at His Post . 199 

his friends in the ship Gorg, the oldest sailor, 
and chief Engineer Haas, were first and best. 
Gorg, the old sailor, was much occupied about 
the decks, keeping things orderly, and Lars 
enjoyed following him up and holding conver- 
sation while he was engaged in this way. To 
him the sea-life of Gorg seemed a romance; the 
boy had the Danish love of the sea. Jens 
would shake his head and say, “ Unless we look 
out, Frii Dagmar’s son will turn sailor.” 

“ Gorg,” said Lars, “ how long have you 
been at sea? ” 

“ Over forty years,” said Gorg. “ I went first 
when I was sixteen.” 

“ And why haven’t you got to be a captain ? 
I thought sailors could go up and up, learning 
more and more about ships, until they became 
captains. I did not know one could be a fore- 
mast hand all ones life.” 

“That is as it is,” said Gorg oracularly. 
“ There were several things in my way. In 
the first place, when I was a lad and young man, 
I was fond of drink. When I was ashore I 
broke out in sprees, and spent my money, and 
was often carried aboard drunk. Now there is 
nobody more low down in the world, and 
with less chance of getting on, than a drunken 
sailor.” 


200 Fru Dagmars Son . 

“ And how came you to give up drinking ? 
asked Lars. 

“ I got converted, and a converted man is no 
longer fond of strong drink. I was the slave 
of the devil, and his chain was strong drink ; 
but the Lord Jesus Christ set me free of Satan’s 
chain. After that I was the Lord’s freedman.” 

“ Well then, after you gave up liquor, why 
did you not rise and get to be at least second 
officer?” demanded Lars. “You know all 
about a ship, and the name of everything.” 

“ To be a ship’s officer one needs more than 
that,’* said Gorg. “ One must have education. 
Now I cannot write more than to write my 
name ; and as for reading, I can make out my 
Bible, and I can read a bit of a book or tract or 
a newspaper, if so be I skip the longest words 
and hard names. But, my lad, a ship’s officer 
has to understand a great science called Navi- 
gation, and he has maps and charts to study. 
Now the words in the navigation books, and 
the charts, would floor me at once, also the 
calculations when one makes an observation. 
My ignorance kept me back, and my ignorance 
was my own fault. When I was a boy, instead 
of going to school, I made off fishing and sail- 
ing little boats, and other play, lounging near 
taverns by and by ; so you see I learned nothing. 


The Man who Died at His Post . 201 

Ah, I tell you, many a man has to pay all his 
life by poverty and hard knocks for neglecting 
his opportunities when he was a boy ! Now- 
adays education in Denmark is free; and, more 
than that, it is compulsory, and I am glad of it. 
Its well to take lads in hand when they don’t 
know what is good for them. After this our 
Danes will be able to hold their own in the 
world handsomely.” 

“ Do you think I would like to be a sailor ?” 
asked Lars. 

“ You might; you’d get on. You’d be a cap- 
tain, no doubt. I see from the mannerly ways 
you have, and the style of your talk, that you 
have had a good up-bringing. Then, too, you 
read masterly well, and I’ve remarked you 
writing letters for people in the steerage. 
You haven’t neglected your opportunities.” 

“ Jens says for me not to get fond of the 
ship, or hanker after a sailor’s life,” said Lars. 

“ Well, you’d better take Jens’ advice ; he 
seems a great friend of yours, and a very good 
fellow. He is always clean and good-natured, 
and I never see him sneaking round a corner 
to hold a black bottle to his mouth, as some of 
those chaps do. I feel rare sorry when I re- 
mark a young man, that has no more respect 
for himself than to consider he is made for 


202 Frit Dagmars Son. 

nought better then to be a bottle to hold 
rum." 

“Jens would be a mighty big bottle," laughed 
Lars. “ He is six feet four inches tall, and over 
thirty inches across his back. You never saw 
a bottle so big as that, did you ? ” 

“ I have indeed, plenty of them. I have 
seen bottles standing twenty or thirty together, 
bottles nearly sixty feet high, and forty feet 
round at the bottom." 

“O! Truly? And what kind of corks did 
they have ? " 

“ The cork was very fancy, shaped like an 
umbrella, or a fine bunch of feathers, or a pea- 
cock's tail brush.” 

“ Are you fooling me ? Where did you see 
such bottles? " 

“ In Australia. I'm telling you true — but 
they were very honest bottles, and had noth- 
ing bad in them.” 

“ Who made them ? " 

“ He who makes all things very good," said 
Gorg reverently. “ The bottles I tell of were 
trees, growing in Australia. They stand in 
small groves of thirty or so, by themselves, and 
are called “ bottle-trees " from their shape. 
For forty feet up they are smooth and round as 
a glass bottle; then they narrow into a neck, 


The Man who Died at His Post . 203 

just like a bottle, and in that neck the stems of 
the long leaf-branches start, but they go straight 
up, not changing the neck shape until the top, 
and then they plume out like a fancy trimmed 
cork. They are a queer sight, I promise you, 
and good bottles, as I said, for only pure sap is 
in them. If every man in that regard was as 
good as a bottle-tree, and kept his blood clean 
as the Lord made it for him, there’d be sounder 
bodies and brains in this world ; you believe it, 
my son.” 

Having received thus much information from 
Gorg, Lars thought it time to wander down 
and see Mr. Haas, who was on duty at that hour 
of the day. He skipped down the stairs to the 
engine-room. The engine-room had its upper 
half made of panels, like window frames set 
with glass, that can slide up and down. Instead 
of goingintothe engine-room, where he feared 
he might be in the way, Lars’ habit was to climb 
up on some boxes in the passage-way, beside 
the engine-room, and, sittingastride the top box, 
he folded his arms on the casing and thrust his 
head and shoulders into the engine-room. 

He derived great satisfaction looking at the 
machinery, listening to the bells if they hap- 
pened to strike, hearing the conversation 
between Mr. Haas and any one who chanced 


204 


Frii Dagmar s Son . 


to be in the engine-room, and meditating on 
affairs generally. Was the leather sofa running 
along one side of the room very comfortable ? 
Did it not seem queer to Mr. Haas to stand 
way down there, and send the vessel on a track 
he could not see ? Did he ever think that the 
cold rushing waters were really far up above 
him, and if anything knocked in the side of the 
ship the great waves would dash in over him 
in a moment ? Suppose anything happened to 
the ship, would Mr. Haas still stand there at 
his post, and drive the “ Danmark ” along her 
course, striving to save her and her freight, 
while all others were in excitement and con- 
fusion, thinking each one for himself? 

When Mr. Haas was not busy with other call- 
ers in the engine-room, or was in a talking 
mood, he and Lars held long conversations. 

When Lars descended to the depths of the 
ship, and mounted his boxes after Gorg had 
told him about the Australian wonder, he found 
Mr. Haas alone and affable, and at once called 
out, “ Mr. Haas ! Gorg says he has seen bottles 
nearly sixty feet tall and forty feet round — lots 
of them ! ” 

“ Ah, Gorg has been telling you about his 
bottle-trees, has he ? That sight impressed the 
old fellow greatly. No doubt they are the 


The Man who Died at His Post . 20 5 


biggest bottles in the world. But I have seen 
the smallest bottles in the world; how large do 
you guess they were ?" 

“ As — big as my little finger ? ’’ questioned 
Lars cautiously. 

“ Not so long as the nail on your little finger.’' 

“ Made of glass ? Were they empty ? " 

“ They were alive, and they were full." 

“ Alive? live bottles? and so little! Why, Mr 
Haas, I think that is more wonderful than what 
Gorg told me." 

“ And also they were full of a kind of drink, 
kept for other — well other creatures, to feast on, 
or get drunk on, perhaps.’' 

“ O Mr. Haas, won’t you tell me what they 
were ? " 

“ Down in Mexico, there is a kind of ant 
which seizes another kind of ant to make bottles 
of. The ants which are to be bottles, are kept 
in the ant-hill, and the other ants go out and 
gather honey which they bring back and pour 
into the throats of the bottle ants. Before this, 
they bite the bodies of the bottle ants in such 
a way, that they will swell out, and will close up 
the outer openings, so that the honey which is 
poured into the throat cannot get out. In this 
way the poor ant becomes a mere bottle for its 
owner’s use, and is filled up with honey until its 


206 


Frit Dagmars Son . 


little body is distended to look like a black cur- 
rant. When the owners want a drink, they go 
and suck up honey through the throat of one of 
these unlucky bottles. I think the stored up 
honey may become sharp or fermented, being 
kept in this way, for people open the ant-hills, 
dig out the ant bottles and sell them by the pint, 
to make of them a drink something like mead, 
only of a little sharper taste.’’ 

“ Why, that’s the most horrid thing I ever 
heard of ! ” cried Lars. 

“ I have seen things much worse,” said Mr 
Haas. “ The ant has no mind, and no soul, 
lives but a few months, and perhaps has not 
many nerves to feel with. When I see a rum- 
seller coaxing a man to become a drunkard, 
just that he may make gain out of the man, and 
feast on his earnings, while the poor sot brings 
him every cent he can make, then I think that 
is much more horrid and cruel than the bottle- 
ant business. DonVthe poor fellow that drinks 
get full of fever and pains; don’t he bloat up, 
and get sores on him; does not his head ache, 
and don’t he feel cross and gloomy and degraded? 
and may he not live for years an outcast and 
miserable, just because he had to be filled up 
with whiskey, so that the whiskey seller may 
have luxuries ? I call that cruel.” 


The Man who Died at His Post . 207 

“ So do I ! ” cried Lars. “ It is cruel — the 
cruellest thing that ever was," and as one of the 
officers came into the engine-room, he jumped 
down from his perch, and ran up to the steerage 
deck, where, first to Jens and a group of men, 
and then to Marie and Gretchen and the women 
and children about them, he told the marvels of 
“ bottle trees” and “ bottle ants,” and comments 
therqon, and so delivered two nice little Tem- 
perance Lectures without knowing it. 

“ Don’t you know of some more queer bottles, 
Mr. Haas ? ” he asked the next time he went 
to the engine-room. 

“ Yes,” said Mr. Haas. “I have seen men 
carrying to market, on their backs, the queerest 
looking things that ever were. They were 
bodies without heads, but had each four legs 
sticking out in a sort of reckless fashion, and 
the men who carried them held them by one 
leg and the tail. They were filled with wine, 
or a kind of rum, or beer. These bottles were 
made of the skins of pigs or goats, and I told a 
carrier one day that it seemed to me that that 
kind of stuff had much better fill the skin of a 
dead pig, or goat, than of a live man.” 

“ After it had been in such a kind of bottle, I 
should say people would think it too dirty to 
drink,” said Lars, disgusted. 


208 


Frii Dagmars Son. 


“ Strong drink is never too dirty for the man 
who loves to use it,” said Mr. Haas ; “ if it is 
dirt that drinkers would object to, they had bet- 
ter quit liquors at once, for they are made out 
of rottenness and filth and poison, made in 
dirty ways, kept in dirty places, handled by 
dirty people, produce dirty actions.” 

“ Sometimes,” said Lars, “ I fancy how fine 
it would be, if I were a great king or general, 
and could go over the world like the knights 
Gerda tells about, and set every wrong right, 
and make all that is bad good, and live a won- 
derful life.” 

“ That little Gerda,” said Mr. Haas, “ seems 
to be always inventing remarkable plays up on 
deck, or telling marvellous stories. I have seen 
as much as thirty women and children listening 
to her with their mouths wide open.” 

“ You can’t help but believe all she tells/’ said 
Lars. “ She fooled me dreadfully about — 
about Aunt Henrietta lb, and sometimes I 
don’t know yet whether there is any Aunt 
Henrietta or not.” 

“No doubt there are plenty of them ; I had 
one myself,” said Mr. Haas, “ but as for doing 
wonderful actions, my boy, few of us are sent 
into the world to do wonderful things. If we 
spend our lives waiting for extraordinary oppor- 


The Man who Died at His Post . 209 

tunities, before we set about good actions, we 
shall spend our lives without doing anything, 
and the good Lord will have to say to us, 
‘ Why stand ye here all the day idle ? * Our 
part is just to make use of common situations. 
A great many little good deeds may foot up 
equal to one big one ; and the habit of doing 
good is worth a great deal.” 

“ You might do some very great good action, 
Mr. Haas ; you might stick to your engine down 
here, when every one was frightened by a col- 
lision or something.” 

“ Whatever comes, I hope I’ll do my duty,” 
said Mr. Haas. 

“ Do you suppose anything will happen to 
the ship, Mr. Haas ? ’’ 

“No, I don’t suppose so. Accidents are the 
exception, not the rule. Are you afraid ? ” 

“ No, I’m not afraid. Mother always said it 
was no good to be afraid of things that might 
happen ; better wait till they came. And then, 
I don’t believe I’m as afraid to die as most peo- 
ple are. I haven’t anybody in this world to 
leave, you know, except Gerda, and she has 
Gretchen and Marie, and if I should die, I’d go 
to my mother, you know, and wouldn’t a boy 
rather be with his mother than with anybody 
else ? I'm not fretting to die, you know. 


210 


Frit Dagmars Son. 


I’m having a pretty good time, I’ve had lots of 
trouble, but mother said it was no good of fret- 
ting about trouble that is past and done. All 
we had to do with trouble, she said, was to try 
and get some good out of it, and learn what it 
would teach us.’’ 

“ I think she was a very wise woman,” said 
Mr Haas. 

“ Oh, she was ! You never saw any one so 
wise and good. She was as good as Queen 
Dagmar the Peerless, that Gerda tells about. 
As long as I live, I’m going to try and be the 
best I can, so that people will believe what a 
good woman my mother was. I would like it 
if Gerda would be as good as my mother, but 
I suppose she never could. Do you think she 
could ? ” 

“ Very likely. She is but a little girl now. 
She seems a very sweet child, and remem- 
ber, your mother was once only a little girl.” 

One great pleasure Lars had was in exam- 
ining a big map, or chart, that Mr. Haas had in 
the engine-room. He would stand on the deck 
and get the points of the compass, turning his 
back to the north, holding his right arm to the 
west toward the course they must travel, and 
his left arm to the east toward the shores they 
were hourly leaving farther behind. Then he 


The Man who Died at His Post. 


21 1 


would think of the countries falling far in their 
northwestern wake : Denmark beyond the 
blue floods of Cattegat and Skager-Rack, 
and the cold North Sea ; and the British Isles, 
green in the arms of the nourishing Gulf Stream, 
and, far far south, Bermuda and the West In- 
dies, and, westward still, the chilly, rocky shores 
of Newfoundland, and still south and west, 
that fairer land of welcome and promise that 
was to be his home. And then he would hurry 
down after the noonday observation had been 
taken, and look at the chart in the engineers 
room, asking : “ How many miles did the 

‘ Danmark ’ make since yesterday noon ? 
And where are we now, Mr. Haas ? ” 

“ We are here,” said Mr. Haas, one day, 
pointing to the map, “just eight hundred miles 
from Newfoundland. Ah, Lars my boy, it is 
a weary way across the sea at best, and often 
as I have gone over it, I never like to be so far 
from the fatherland. Once let me get money 
laid up for my old age and let me reach a time 
of life when I can feel that I have done a man's 
fair work, then I will settle down and be at rest 
— and at home.” 

And at that word — there was a fearful crash, 
and the ship “ Danmark ” reeled and quivered, 
and in the roar and smoke and steam, the 


212 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


stokers and second and third engineers rushed 
forward, and then, while feet trampled and 
voices shouted overhead, up the narrow, brass- 
bound staircases came grimy men carrying inert 
and heavy loads, and side by side upon the 
steerage-deck they laid Engineer Haas and 
Lars Waldsen, quiet and white and limp, struck 
suddenly out of life. 

The ship’s surgeon came, the officers and 
the engineers hurried below. Gretchen held 
Lars’ yellow head in her lap, Marie and Gerda 
rubbed his drooping hands, calling on him to 
open his eyes, to speak to them. 

“ The boy is only stunned by the shock,” 
said the surgeon, pouring a cordial between his 
lips; “ rub him, he will come to before long.” 

But there were no such words for Engineer 
Haas; he had found rest and home, but not in 
Denmark; the man had died at his post. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


HOW DEATH STOOD AT THE HELM. 

Since danger , toil and trouble still molest 
The wandering vassals of the faithless deep , 

O happier they escaped to endless rest , 

Than we who still survive to wake and weepy 

Finally Lars opened his eyes. “ Oh dear 
Lars, you are not dead, are you ! ” screamed 
Gerda. 

“ Dead ?” said Lars, in a weak voice. “ What 
has happened ? ” 

“ You are safe now, be quiet,” said Gretchen; 
but in a few moments Lars struggled to his 
elbow, lifting his head from her lap, and there, 
near him on the deck, lay Mr. Haas, and the 
ships doctor was pressing the lids down over 
his eyes, and old Gorg was tying his hands 
together with one of Gerda’s treasured kerchiefs. 
Lars said not a word. He could understand 
nothing of all this. 

Presently Jens came, and saying to Gretchen, 
u Look after Marie,” he took Lars up in his arms. 


214 


Frii Dagmars Son. 


Then Lars heard the ship’s captain, in a loud 
voice like a trumpet, crying, “ Silence all ! 
There is no danger ! The ship is safe 1 All will 
go well if you are quiet, and make no tumult ! ” 

Jens carried Lars through a crowd of people, 
and laid him in his berth. Then he bathed his 
head and throat with camphor, and gave him a 
big drink of water. 

“ Are you afraid for me to leave you here 
for a little, Lars ? ” he asked. 

“ Afraid ? No ; what is there to be afraid of ? ” 
said Lars. He was still dazed and half-stunned. 
He lay alone in his berth; the “ Danmark” did 
not seem to be moving, except as she rolled 
slowly on the long Atlantic swells. There was 
a strange noise as of scarcely restrained cries 
and weeping, in the ship. Lars only realized 
that his friend Mr. Haas was dead. 

After a little Jens came back. “Gretchen 
wishes us all to be together,” he said. “ I will 
carry you back to her.” 

“ There’s no need to carry me,” said Lars ; 
“ I’m all right ; ” but when he was on his feet, 
he said, “ My legs feel queer and shaky, as 
when Uncle Kars did not give me enough to 
eat, ? ’ and he was glad of the strong arm of Jens 
thrown about him, as they went to Gretchen in 
the familiar corner of the deck. Marie made a 


How Death Stood at the Helm . 2i5 

place for Lars to lie down by her and rest his 
head on her pillow. He heard mothers crying 
softly, and pitying their little ones for “ poor 
dears who would never see America, but find 
a bed in the waters.” He saw the men grouped 
together excitedly comparing experiences, or 
with pale faces searching the horizon for ships; 
the children had ceased their play: Gerda knelt 
close by him, her hand grasping his collar; he 
felt the hand tremble, but the usually loquacious 
Gerda said not a word. Jens sat down on a 
coil of rope, and putting his big hand on 
Gretchen’s capped head said, “ Do not fear, 
my little sister, we shall win through safely 
yet.” 

“I am not afraid,” said Gretchen, quietly 
looking at the quivering lips and closed eye- 
lids of Marie. 

Then through the crowds came the ship’s 
captain, and first officer, saying, “Courage all 
of you ! There is nothing to fear. The ‘ Dan- 
mark’ has broken her shaft, but we are safe. 
As soon as there is any wind, we will try and 
make sail. Have no fear ! If anything worse 
happens, remember that you will be the first 
cared for, before the cabin passengers, and I 
shall be the last man on the ship. Keep quiet 
and obey orders, that is all you have to do.” 


216 


Fru Dagmars Son. 


Then came the Herr Pastor Hama: “ Chil- 
dren and brothers, do not be terrified or excited. 
The good Lord has us in his keeping here, the 
same as on land. He will bring us to our de- 
sired haven. Pray to him and play your parts 
like true men.” 

Then followed the ship’s doctor, a young man 
with a cheery voice : “ Here now, good people, 
show yourselves true Danes ! Are we not half 
fish, being Danes, and why should we fear the 
sea ? Did not our fathers live on it and rule it? 
Our old Viking ancestors crossed the waters 
in a much worse kind of craft than the ‘ Dan- 
mark’ is, even with a broken shaft. What kind 
of cockle-shells did our grand-dads go in, when 
they captured England, and raided France, and 
went way down to Sardinia, and even to Tur- 
key, some say ? Hallo now ! let us show our- 
selves true Danes. Every Danish woman is as 
strong and brave as a man of another race ; and 
every Danish man is worth five other men, for 
sure. Keep calm now.” 

Thus exhorted by authority, religion, and 
patriotism, the hundreds of passengers in the 
steerage remained quiet and courageous, though 
such words went round as : — 

“ The ‘ Danmark ’ can never go with those 
bits of sails.” 


How Death Stood at the Helm . 217 

“ I make sure there's more wrong than a 
broken shaft." 

“ She rolls heavily." 

“ Shan’t we ever get to America, Gretchen ? ” 
demanded Gerda. 

“Yes: the good Lord will send a ship to 
help us," said Gretchen. 

“Jens," said Lars, “ we are now just eight 
hundred miles east, and a tiny bit north, of 
Newfoundland. We are much farther from 
New York, but if we could get to Newfound- 
land, as I have seen by the maps, there are rail- 
roads there, and we could go on to New York 
so, if we have money enough." 

“ Never fear," said Jens, “ the good Book 
tells us the Lord had compassion on Nineveh 
because of the many children there who did 
not know good from evil, and the much cattle ; 
and I make sure He will remember this ship, 
with its crowds of children, and scores of sim- 
ple people upon her, who are all the same as 
silly sheep." 

About an hour after this, Lars and Jens stood 
by the ship’s side and watched the burial of Mr. 
Haas. The body was rolled up in a sail, and 
weighted and laid on a plank placed over the 
ship’s side. Pastor Hama read the burial ser- 
vice, and when he said, “ We commit our bro- 


2l8 


Frii Dagmars Son. 


ther to the deep,” the plank was tilted and the 
swathed body fell with a heavy plash into the 
sea. “ My brothers,” said Pastor Hama, “do 
not forget that it is written, ‘ The sea shall give 
up its dead/ God will call forth from the 
waters the body of this his servant, at the last 
day.” 

Whispers now went through the ship that 
the " Danmark” could not make any progress 
with her sails, and that their chief hope lay in 
being overtaken or met by some ship. No one 
went to their berths; the lamps were lit, food, 
was passed around ; but wrapped in blankets 
the passengers sat in groups huddled together; 
though some of the women laid their little ones 
in the lower berths, and sat on the floor near 
them. 

The captain sent for Lars. “ I hear, my boy, 
that you were in the engine-room when the 
accident happened ; what can you tell about it?” 

“ I cannot tell any thing/’ said Lars. “ I was 
leaning into the room, as I often did, talking to 
Mr. Haas, and he said he would be glad to be 
at home to stay, and as he spoke, he stooped 
down to pick up his pencil, and the next thing 
I knew I didn’t know anything; and I was ly- 
ing on the deck, and Mr. Haas was there, dead.” 

The night was long, and full of anxiety. 


How Death Stood at the Helm . 219 

Then the sun rose clear, and eyes and glasses 
scanned all the horizon, but not a sail was to 
be seen. Flags of distress were flying from the 
“ Danmark.” The officers passed through the 
ship, commending the behavior of the people, 
urging them to eat and to sleep, and to continue 
to keep calm. 

“ All will go right,” said the captain. 

Gerda went to her berth and to Lars’ berth ; 
and came back with the little oil-skin bags 
she had made. 

“ I’m going to have our things with us,” she 
said calmly, tying one bag to her own waist, 
the other to the waist of Lars. Then she con- 
sidered a minute — 

“ Marie, shall I go get the flannel bag of 
things on your berth ? I will throw mine away, 
and carry those for you.” 

“ You are a dear wise child, Gerda!” cried 
Gretchen. “ Keep your things as they are, I 
will take care of Marie’s bag.” 

At noon there was a loud shout, a “ Steamer ! ” 
and far off against the sky trailed a long dark 
plume of vapor, too straight and too low down 
to be a cloud. “ It is a ship from London,’* 
said old Gorg to Lars, who was near him. 
“ She will come near enough to us to see our 
signals.’’ 


2 20 


Fru Dagmars Son . 


“ Why don’t we get up sails and go a little, 
even if we cannot go a great ways ? My mo- 
ther always told me half a loaf was better than 
no bread, ” said Lars. 

“ We cannot take even the half loaf now," 
said Gorg. “ The fact is, the ‘ Danmark ’ is 
leaking. If we put on sail, the strain will only 
make her leak worse. But now that ship will 
see our distress flag. God has sent us help, 
you see.” 

Lars had climbed up beside Gorg, and was 
where he could look down on the crowds of 
steerage passengers. “ Gorg! ” he cried sud- 
denly, “ don’t you see some of those men are 
drunk ? I see more men showing drink than 
in all the voyage. There’s Peter Kime, I did 
not know he drank, and see, he has a bottle to 
his mouth ! ” 

“ If they get drunk,” cried Gorg, below his 
breath, “ all hope is lost ! We never could get 
them into the boats ! ” He hurried off to find an 
officer, and Lars swung himself back among his 
travelling companions, making his way to Peter 
Kime. 

“ Peter ! what are you taking that whiskey 
for ? I didn’t know you drank whiskey, Peter ! ” 

“ So I don’t very often,” said Peter, evident- 
ly already partly intoxicated, “ but you see now 


How Death Stood at the Helm. 


221 


if we are going under I don’t want to know 
it.” 

“ What ! ” cried Lars, “ do you mean you 
want to die drunk ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Peter. “ Do I want to know I am 
drowning like a pig, with no one to help me ? ” 

“ You’ll drown like a pig if you are drunk,” 
said Lars angrily. “ You don’t talk like a man. 
If you keep your senses to help yourself as 
long as you can, and to say a little prayer to 
God if you find you must go under, then you 
won’t die like a pig, but like a man.” 

“ Ain’t you afraid yourself? ’’demanded Peter. 

Lars thought a minute. “ Perhaps I am a 
little afraid. I do not want to drown. I hope 
very much the ship will help us. And then, 
think of all these people going to their friends, 
and of all the friends in Denmark ! I think of 
Marie’s husband, and of Thorrold Iveson 
waiting for Gretchen, and how Frii Kirche 
would break her heart — oh, I hope very very 
much the ship will get here. Peter, who is 
waiting for you in America ? ” 

“ My brother,” said Peter. 

“ And who is thinking of you in Denmark ? ” 

“ My mother,” said Peter with a thick voice. 

“ And if they hear you went down, won’t 
they hope you went down like an honest man, 


222 


Frii Dagmars Son. 


asking God to save your soul ? That is what 
my mother would want of me. But I am bet- 
ter off than you, for if I go down with this ship 
I shall see my mother. I am not crying for 
myself, Peter,” added Lars, as he brushed off 
two tears. “ I always cry when I think of my 
mother. Y ou may think me too big for that, as 
I’ve walked across Zeeland, and am in a ship- 
wreck, but when his mother is all a boy has — ” 

Peter flung his rum-bottle far out into the 
water. “ There ! ‘ Don’t drink, Peter,’ was the 
last word my poor old mother said, and I said 
to her, ‘No, I won’t; keep heart up, mother, 
and Cris and I will soon send the money to fetch 
you to us.’ Now I make a vow, if I can get safe 
over to America, a drop of that stuff shall 
not pass my lips again, for my old mother’s 
sake.” 

But now the ship’s officers were passing 
through the crowds with the pastor, doctor and 
steward. They had taken the alarm, and were 
making requisition for the whiskey. 

“ Your lives may depend on keeping sober,” 
cried the captain. “ Whiskey makes cowards 
and breeds broils. If we have to take to the 
boats a drunken crowd would swamp them. 
Keep sober, and you’ll behave like men, and 
let the women and children go first. Get drunk, 


How Death Stood at the Helm. 223 

and you’ll crowd like crazy beasts, each one for 
himself. Give it up — hand it over ! ” 

At this presentation of the Temperance ques- 
tion, many of the women, and the sober men, 
resolved themselves into a committee of public 
safety, and began searching for the secret 
stores of strong drink, and throwing it over- 
board. Many of the drinking men, overawed 
by authority, or impressed by reason, gave up 
their bottles; some naturally rebellious, or over- 
stimulated by their potations, began to quarrel 
in a loud voice: “ The captain had wrecked the 
ship, he had brought them into danger, he was 
going to drown them all, he shouldn’t deprive 
them of what little comfort they had. The 
drink was all that would keep their strength 
and courage up. It was good Danish whiskey, 
fit for Danish men. They’d not be robbed, not 
they!” 

With these rebels the captain made short 
work. “ I act for the good of the whole,” he 
said firmly. “ You are most of you behaving 
grandly, and a few rowdies shall not ruin us. 
I’ll knock down any man who refuses to give 
up his liquor, or who drinks another drop.” 

He re-inforced these words by exhibiting a 
short club, like a policeman’s billy, and in fact 
knocked down two belligerents. The rest sur- 


Frii Dagmars Son, 


224 

rendered at discretion, and Gorg and another 
sailor having thoroughly soused in sea water 
two who lay drunk, they were restored to their 
senses, and Prohibition triumphed on the ship 
“ Danmark.” 

‘‘ If we go down,” said old Gorg grimly, 
“ we’ll go down in our sober senses.” 

“ Do you think we will go down ?” asked Jens. 

“ No,” said the old sailor; “ the Lord has 
brought me through three shipwrecks and I be- 
lieve he'll bring me through this.’’ He stood 
by them, anxiously watching the steamer, 
which now showed her dark hull against the blue 
sky. He spoke to beguile the time. 

“ I’m hoping to spend the last few years 
of my life in Copenhagen. I’ve a little 
plan of my own. I want to see it 
through. For thirty years' I’ve been laying up 
my savings. A man like me, always aboard 
ship, with only his rough clothes to buy, can 
save quite a pretty penny in time. My hope 
is to be able to get a little house in Copenhagen, 
near the water, with a sitting-room, a kitchen 
to cook and eat in, and five or six other rooms 
for bed-rooms. I’ll furnish it plain, fit for sail- 
ors, and I’ll do the cooking and all the work; 
and then I’ll watch for young sailors, who might 
while ashore get led off to drink, or game, and 


How Death Stood at the Helm. 22S 


I’ll board them for less than the other places 
do, and I’ll have some books and papers, and 
checkers and other games, on the table in the 
sitting-room, and will tell sea yarns, and Til 
have a good open fire and make the lads feel 
at home, and I’ll help them find good ships; 
keeping them from vice ashore, I will send 
them aboard sober, with a little bank book in 
their pockets. So doing, I may prevent some 
fellows from going down, and may send some 
mothers’ sons home safe.” 

The old sailor spoke in such a quiet, matter- 
of-fact tone, that those who heard him were 
diverted for the moment from their cares. In 
fact the captain had ordered him to remain 
among the steerage passengers, to see that 
nothing went wrong, and to keep up their cour- 
age by his own calmness. 

“ O I think that would be fine ! ” cried Lars. 
“ I’d like to do a thing like that. I’d like to 
do something real worth doing.” 

“You will, never fear,’’ said old Gorg. 
“ You are only a lad now, crossing in the steer- 
age, but you will be going over these seas as a 
man in the best cabin on the ship, and with 
plenty of money to use, and you’ll have the 
heart to do good with it.” 

Slowly, slowly the steamer from London drew 


226 


Frii Dagmars Son. 


near. She was in plain sight now. Not so 
large a ship as the “ Danmark,” her sides, her 
pipes, her decks plainly visible. 

“ What is she doing now ?” asked Peter Kime. 

“ She’s lying to,” replied Gorg. 

“ Why don’t she come up to us, if she wants 
to help us? ” 

“Too near would be as bad as too far. We 
don’t want a collision. At sea one remembers 
the old proverb of our homes, ‘ It is often better 
to be friends than neighbors,’ ” said old Gorg, 
coolly. 

“ But what are they going to do ? ” asked 
Lars eagerly. 

“ They are going to talk,” replied Gorg. . 

“ Why, they can’t hear that long way, not 
even if our captain just shouts and screams" 
through his trumpet,” said Gerda. 

“ Did you know that at sea ships have a lan- 
guage of their own, and talk with flags ? ’’ said 
Gorg. “You watch, and I will tell you what is 
said. They send up little flags of different 
colors, and according to the colors and the way 
they are placed, they mean sentences. These 
sentences in the signals, are the same in 
all nations, and the captains have each a 
book where the meanings of the flags are all 
printed. So this language of the ships is known 


How Death Stood at the Helm . 227 


to all, and the captains read the signal flags 
through their glasses, even far off. We can see 
their flags without glasses. You see the signal 
we have, a flag at half-mast meant — ‘ We are 
in trouble.’ ” 

The officers of the “ Danmark ” were now on 
the bridge, and on the other ship’s bridge stood 
her officers. A man who had a glass made out 
that this was the steamer “ Missouri,” from Lon- 
don. Up ran the signal flags. 

“ Read them ! ” cried the people about old 
Gorg. And as he translated the signals the 
word was passed along to all the eager throng 
of seven hundred emigrants, crowded to look 
at the ship “ Missouri.” 

“ ‘ Can you take us aboard ? ’ our Captain 
Kundsen asks,” said Gorg. 

“ How many are there of you? ” asks the other 
, ship. 

“ Eight hundred,” says Captain Kundsen. 

“ My ship cannot hold so many,” replied the 
“ Missouri’s ” captain — Captain Murrell, as they 
afterwards learned his name. * 

“ We will give you a rope and tow you to 
Newfoundland,” said the “ Missouri.” “ We 
will not desert you.” 

“How many people have you room for? ” 
asked Captain Kundsen’s flag. 


228 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


“ Only twenty,” was the reply. “ Can you 
keep afloat ? ” 

“ I think so,” said Captain Kundsen. “ Give 
us the rope.” 

Then the “Missouri ” drew nearer and nearer, 
and a boat was let down, and a rope was sent 
out to the “ Danmark,” and fastened to her 
head, and then slowly and laboriously the great 
hulk of the “ Missouri ” ploughed through the 
waters, dragging the helpless “ Danmark ” with 
its freight of eight hundred souls. 

Aboard the “ Danmark ” the heavy sound of 
the pumps was heard, and the men of the steer- 
age eagerly lent a hand at whatever they could 
do, anxious to have something to divert their 
minds. 

“ How strange,” said Gretchen, “ that this 
ship which helps us is named the ‘ Missouri/ 
after the very state to which we are going.” 

“ If we don’t go faster than this,” said Peter 
Kime, “ we’ll never get there.” 

“ If a wind would rest fair for us, it would be 
a great help,” said old Gorg. “ The ‘ Missouri* 
could then use her sails as well as her engines, 
and she could make better time. Perhaps we 
could use some sail also, if we gain on the 
water.*' 

The weather turned much colder, and before 


How Death Stood at the Helm . 229 

sunset, just in the crimson and golden splendor 
of the sky, rose up above the waters a 
great snowy temple, whose towers glittered in 
the glory of the setting sun. 

“ What is it ? What is it ? ” cried many 
voices. 

“ It is an iceberg," said Jens softly to Lars, 
“ and I’m sorry to see it." 

Herr Pastor Hama came down, begging the 
people to eat and to sleep, and not exhaust 
themselves with watching. Then he had 
prayers. But late into the night, Jens and Lars, 
watching, saw silver palaces and temples steal- 
ing by them in the light of the moon. 



CHAPTER XIV. 


OUT OF THE DEPTHS HAVE I CRIED UNTO THEE.” 

And now there came both mist and snow , 

And it grew wondrous cold , 

And ice , mast high , came floating by 
As green as emerald." 

The morning rose grey and cold. A band 
of pale yellow light lay along the eastern sky, 
and in its reflection, far to the northwest there 
seemed to lie upon the water a vast silver shield. 
There were no sails now set on the “ Missouri," 
a strong wind was blowing from the north- 
west, and she labored heavily along, dragging 
the unwieldy “ Danmark," which lay lower in 
the water than she had the day before. Jens 
and Lars were standing near the prow, watching 
the great dripping hawser strained between 
the two ships, when Gorg came near them. 
He said nothing, but pointed to the distance 
where, tinted by the struggling day, rocked 
upon the tumultuous waters one of those 
wandering palaces of the North — a berg. 

“ Yes, .there are three of them in sight," 

230 


“ Out of the Depths \ 


231 


said Jens ; “ and in the night, I saw three go 
by under the clear light of the moon.” 

Lars remembered that under the light of the 
last moon he had sat on the well-trough at 
Korsor. How far away that time seemed ! Then 
he watched homes in the moonlight ; now- 
icebergs. “ I wish one would come nearer ! ” 
he said. 

“ I don’t,” said Gorg, “ these two ships would 
have a poor time getting out of the way. One 
of these bergs could trample us down under 
the water, as an elephant would tread on a 
mouse. They are eight times as large below 
water as above. Only the tip of them, so to 
speak, lifts above the waves. As soon as the 
bottom melts off, until it is only six times the size 
of the top, over the thing goes. Ah, that’s a 
form of water it’s well to give a wide berth ! ” 

“ What makes the sea shine so over there, 
where it’s so rough ? ” asked Lars, pointing 
northwest. 

“ It is an ice field,’ 7 said Gorg. “ This 
heavy wind from that quarter is bringing 
down the Baffin’s Bay ice. It lies right in our 
course to Newfoundland. I doubt the ‘ Mis- 
souri ’ will hold to that tack very long.” 

“ What makes our ship lie so low ? ” asked 
Lars. “ At this rate, the waters will wash the 


232 Frii Dagmars Son. 

deck after a little while, unless the waves go 
down.” 

“ If the waves do go down, we seem to 
be going down too ,” said Gorg, in a low 
tone. 

“ Then the ‘ Missouri ’ will have to cast off that 
cable, else we will pull her under too,” said 
Jens with a groan. 

“ That is not the way ships and sailors be- 
have. She will not see us perish under her 
eyes. The captain, it is to be hoped, will jet- 
tison the cargo and take us aboard.’’ 

“ What is jettison ? ” demanded Lars. 

“ It is to fling overboard the cargo,” said 
Gorg. “ Don’t you see the ‘ Missouri ’ is piled 
high over her decks with bales. Her cargo is 
chiefly rags, going to America. Men are 
worth more than rags.” 

“ What do they take rags to America for ? ” 
demanded Lars, who could not understand that, 
while all seemed so orderly and quiet about 
him, danger was hourly increasing. Curiosity 
rather than fear was in the ascendant : the 
peril of the hour excited him, satisfied his love 
of adventure, and — as it is ever with youth — 
it could not seem possible that death was near 
at hand. The over-wearied crowds about 
him were most of them “ sleeping for sorrow ’’ 


Out of the Depths . v 


233 




and for fasting. The officers were sounding 
the water in the hold. 

“ The rags are to make paper of, boy,” said 
Jens, “but we have other things than rags and 
paper to think of now.” 

“ Hallo ! ” cried Gorg, “ the ‘ Missouri ' speaks 
to us.” 

The passengers were waking up, realizing 
once more their state. 

“ What is it ? What does she say ? ” cried 
one after another. 

“ ‘ I cannot keep this course any longer,’ she 
says,” interpreted Gorg. 

“ Do whatever you think right,” our flag 
says. 

“ I shall have to take you to the Azores,” 
says the “ Missouri.” 

“ All right,” says the “ Danmark.” 

And now the Yope slackened in the water. 
The head of the “ Missouri ” turned, describing 
the segment of a great circle. Slowly she 
changed her course. No longer the sharp 
prow pointed to the west. South, south and by 
east, she turned, and with her swayed the help- 
less bulk of the “ Danmark, ’’ turning, turning, 
until the backs of the emigrants were toward the 
land where they would be. Then a great 
tumult began to rise from the crowded decks. 


234 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


“ Where are we going ? What is to become 
of us ? Why does she change her course ? v 

Now sails were set on the “ Missouri. ” She 
had the strong northwest wind at her back, and 
cut a wide white furrow, which broke in foam 
against the low-lying bow of the “ Danmark, "as 
she followed the “ Missouri’s ” track, and trem- 
bled and quivered at the shock of waters, and 
the laboring of her pumps. 

“ Where are we going ? Where are we go- 
ing ? ” was the cry. 

The ship’s officers strove to quiet the confu- 
sion with explanation. 

“ The ‘ Missouri ’ cannot hold her way against 
the northwest wind. She cannot risk meeting 
the ice. She has left her course for us, and is 
running toward the Azores, hoping to meet on 
the way ships which will help us ; or at least to 
land us at the Azores, so that ^e can find other 
ships there. Still we are safe. Be patient : 
be quiet : be brave : show yourself Danes.” 

“ Where are the Azores ? Is it far ? ” asked 
Marie, looking at Jens. 

He pulled the elbow of Gorg. “ Tell the 
woman — is it far ? ” 

“ About half as far as it would be to go to 
Newfoundland,” said the sailor. “ Don’t fret : 
see how much easier it is now that we go with 


“ Out of the Depths .” 235 

the waves ; and also we go faster, and the course 
will be shorter, and we shall be running away 
from the ice and cold, into warmer parts.” 

“ Islands ! ” cried some, who had heard of 
Iceland, or even of the adventures of Robinson 
Crusoe. “ Islands ! what like are they? Will 
there be aught to eat? When will we get to 
America ? Are the Azores savage islands, 
with wild cannibals on them ? ” 

“ Why, idiots,” said Peter Kime bluntly^ 
“I’ve seen ships from the Azores at Copen- 
hagen, bringing embroidery, and linen, and 
lemons, and I make sure they are no more can- 
nibals there than we are.” 

“ The islands belong to Portugal,” said Gorg, 
“ and’ they are fine and warm and friendly ; and 
there will be ships there to carry you to Amer- 
ica, and us sailors back to Europe. The Azores 
lie about on a line with New York and Phila- 
delphia, and you’ll get to one of those ports, no 
doubt.” 

“ I will be glad,’’ said a poor mother, “ to get 
where it is warmer, for the little ones are per- 
ishing with cold and wet. What a time we 
have ! I wish I’d been satisfied to stay in Den- 
mark, and had not egged on my husband to go 
to America. But I was so ambitious for the 
children, that they should rise in the world, 


236 


Frii Dagmars Son. 


and not be Insidders, like their grandparents 
before them. Ah, prides an ill weed to get in 
the heart! It thrives till soon it is all the same 
as if the devil with his horns and hoofs were in- 
side of one. Here are my poor babes, to be 
drowned corpses, and not Parcelists or Gaard- 
maend ! ” 

“ Hush, woman,” said Jens, gently. “ A year 
from now you will be all settled in Minnesota, 
and you at your house-cares, and the children 
at school, and this will be only something to talk 
about.” 

For a few hours hope and comparative 
peace reigned on the “ Danmark.” The peo- 
ple ate, dried their clothes, washed the children, 
and gave them clean aprons ; and the ques- 
tion of how much the length of the voyage 
might be increased by their disaster was dis- 
cussed. 

“ There’s one comfort,” said an elderly 
couple, who were going to their children, who 
had come over among the pioneers of the Min- 
nesota colony, “ our folks in America will know 
nothing of this, and will not have to worry over 
us, before we get there to say we are safe. 
Nor will they hear news in Denmark till they 
hear good news.” 

They none of them knew that at the time of 


“ Out of the Depths .” 


2 37 


the accident to the shaft, a boat and some 
other wreckage bearing the name of the “ Dan- 
mark ” had gotten adrift, and, being picked up 
by New York bound vessels, would fill the 
hearts of waiting friends with unspeakable dread. 

“ It is always so much easier,” said an old 
woman, “ to bear trouble when you can bear 
it alone, and are not breaking other hearts.” 

As none of the children felt like playing, the 
situation being still too full of gloom, some of 
them came about Gerda, and asked her to tell 
them a story. Gerda’s tongue had been silent 
under the restraint of terror for so long, that 
she did not now need much urging to take up 
her chronicles. 

“Once — when I was a little girl, and lived 
in Copenhagen, I went to the theatre. The 
king and queen were there. They had on their 
crowns, and they sat in splendid chairs, all 
gold, and you never saw such a splendid place 
in all your lives ! I went with my Aunt Hen- 
rietta lb.” 

At these familiar syllables, Lars turned about 
quickly. “Gerda, I do not think you ought to 
say that any more since — ” 

“ Well,” said Gerda, looking puzzled as to how 
to get on without her favorite my thus — “ well 
I really truly did go once to the theatre in 


238 


Fru Dagmars Son . 


Copenhagen, when I was a little girl, before 
my father died — I did honestly. Perhaps the 
king and queen were not there. 0 

“ Then tell about that, then,” said Lars. 

“ So I am, boy ! Why don’t you let me 
alone ? It was splendid there, and I don’t 
know what they were playing, only there was 
a drinking cellar, and a lot of men there in 
gowns like priests, only not priests.” 

“ Students, perhaps,” suggested Peter Kime, 
who was listening ; “ there are always plenty of 
them in drinking cellars — more’s the shame, 
for learned men ought to know better.” 

“Yes, maybe students,” said Gerda : “and 
a man came in and said he would treat them. 
And he took a gimlet and bored for each one a 
hole in the table,* and made a wax cork for it. 
Then he said for every man to drink all he liked, 
only he must not spill one single drop. So 
they all drank, and they got noisy, and by and 
by they let the drops spill on the floor. Then, 
wherever a drop fell, fire sprang up and burnt 
and flamed, and scorched them and blazed all 
along the cellar. It looked awful. Then all 
the students began to quarrel, and to catch 
hold of each others’ hair and noses, and pull out 
knives and fight — ” 


* Scene from “ Faust.' 


“ Out of the Depths!' 


239 


“ What !” cried a little Copenhagen girl, who 
had been to a Christmas or Easter pantomime, 
“ wasn’t there any little Cinderella carried off 
in a pumpkin to marry a king ? Wasn’t there 
any Sindbad hanging to the leg of a great big 
bird, nor any men that knocked — ” 

“ There were knocks enough,’* said Gerda 
with asperity, vexed to have her province of 
narrateur intruded upon. “ Didn’t I tell you 
they were all fighting ? That is all I remem- 
ber about it. And I would not have remem- 
bered that, only my father took me, and he said 
the play was true, for whiskey drink was fire, and 
when it went into a man’s throat it burnt up 
his heart, and his mind and his soul, just like 
the drops burnt ioa the cellar, and he said that 
fights always rose out of drinking.’* 

“ Aye,” said Jens, “ treat and beat ; that’s 
about it. Bring a man in and treat him, and in 
no time you are ready to beat him.” 

“ Bars and broils, beer and blows, go as 
naturally together,” said Peter Kime, “ as the 
toasting fork and the toast, the gridiron and 
the meat.” 

" My father,” said Gretchen, “ used to read us 
this verse from Proverbs, 4 The beginning of 
strife is as the letting out of water, therefore 
leave off contention before it be meddled with.’ 


240 


Frii Dagmcirs Son . 


And he said we might turn it to the drinking, 
for the beginning of a drinking carouse was as 
the letting in of water through one of our dykes, 
and it was well to leave it off before you began 
with it.” 

“ I’ve made a vow,” said Peter Kime, “ that 
if ever I get safe ashore to my brother, I’ll not 
touch a strong drop more. I’ll work hard to 
send for my old mother, and she shall see some 
good of her days with her two lads.” 

“ Woe’s me,” cried a woman, bursting into 
tears. “We are more likely to be ruined this 
trip by too much water, than by too much beer 
or rum. You’re safe taking the vow, Peter 
Kime. It’s my belief you’ll never see land. 
Yon ship will cut us loose ii} the night, and 
slip away from us, and leave us rolling on the 
seas.” 

“ Not if the captain fears God,” said Marie. 
“ He who fears God will not desert his brother 
in his need.” 

“ Aye, aye, it would be passing easy to say 
the rope broke, and they didn’t know we were 
missing. It is like the man will go four or five 
hundred miles out of his way for a few hundred 
poor Danes! ” replied the woman, crying bit- 
terly. “ Me and my man have had hard times 
all our lives. And we’ve worked and saved 


Out of the Depths. 


241 


to get the rix-dollars to take us to America to 
try and have a comfortable home for our old 
age, and we meant to send for our two girls 
and the little boy. But here’s the end of it.” 

“ The end is as God wills,” said Gretchen. 
“ I believe we will be saved.” 

“ You young folks can take it easy, you left 
no children behind,” replied the woman. But 
this brought before Gretchen all she had left on 
the Danish shores, and the lover who was wait- 
ing in America. Her fortitude failed her. She 
bent her head upon Marie’s and moaning — 
M Oh mother, my mother ! Oh, Thorrold, Thor- 
rold — ” burst into bitter weeping. Marie put her 
arms about her, and cried in company. In truth 
there was a growing discouragement shown 
aboard the ship. Watching, the irregularity of 
their meals, owing to their excitement and dis- 
tress, was telling on the people; they were less 
strong, and with failing strength came increas- 
ing despondency. They had also suffered from 
cold, fearing, as they had, to go to their beds at 
night. The children partaking of the discom- 
forts of their elders, cold, weary, no longer 
played merrily, but crouched by their parents, 
and by their fretting and crying added to the 
miseries of the hour. 

Now suddenly a gun sounded over the sea, 


242 Frii Dagmars Son . 

and a puff ot smoke curled away from the bows 
of the “ Danmark.’’ A small gun at the bow had 
been fired, to call the particular attention of the 
“ Missouri,” amid the increasing uproar of winds 
and waves. Jens looked at old Gorg. The 
sailor shook his head. 

“ It is a distress gun,” he said — “ see, they 
are throwing out signals.” 

“ What do they say ? What is it ? What is 
wrong ? ” were the cries. 

Gorg replied, “ Wait a little, wait until I see 
the answers,” but he whispered to Jens — “ Our 
captain says to the captain of the ‘ Missouri,’ 
‘ We are leaking badly.’ And the ‘ Missouri ' 
replies, ‘ What shall we do ? ’ Now the flags 
of Captain Kundsen say — ‘ Keep on towing.’ ” 

“ What time is it ? ” demanded some one, “ will 
this day never end ? ” 

“ Most like it will end in another world,” re- 
plied a man with a watch; “ it is now ten 
o’clock.” 

“ Aye,” said another, “ we’re done for. It 
is well to be prepared to die.” 

“It is always well to be prepared to die, my 
friends,” said Herr pastor, coming among them. 
“ In the midst of life we are in death, and no 
man knows at morning whether he will see 
evening, though most of us live as if our 


“ Out of the Depths 


243 


souls had a long lease of our bodies. There is 
no fresh danger here. Your part is still pa- 
tience, obedience, courage. And we hope all 
will be well. But the captain wishes you to 
put on your warm clothes, take all your money 
upon your persons, and eat a full meal, that you 
may be warm and strong, and ready for what- 
ever happens.” 

At this there was on some parts a 
great outburst of weeping and moaning, but 
the wiser portion at once began to obey orders, 
and to exhort the others to confidence. So 
presently, by force of good example, every one 
was busy securing valuables, putting on more 
clothing, and making and drinking hot tea and 
coffee, and distributing abundant bread and 
meat. * 

In a painful crisis, having something to do 
cheers the heart, and the effect of these little 
activities among the steerage passengers was 
renewed calm and ability to obey orders. This 
was fortunate, for in less than two hours the 
flags were speaking again. This time the mes- 
sage was short and sharp. “ Help ! we sink! ” 
At once the “ Missouri” slackened speed. “ Can 
you take us aboard ? ” asked Captain Kundsen. 

“ Yes, I will ! ’* came from Captain Murrell. 

And now those on the “ Danmark ” saw the 


244 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


decks of the “ Missouri ” swarmed with men 
flinging her cargo into the sea. Over went the 
huge bales, bobbed awhile on the water like 
corks, and then, water-logged, began to sink, 
and went rolling away nearly submerged. The 
two steamships drew as near together as was 
safe, boats were let down from both ships and 
Captain Kundsen, trumpet in hand, made pro- 
clamation — 

“ Your lives now depend on quiet and obedi- 
ence ! If you keep still and obey orders exact- 
ly, we will put every man, woman, and child of 
you safely aboard the ‘ Missouri.’ This ship will 
not stay above water over seven or eight hours 
longer. Yield yourselves quietly to our help 
and the plans we make. The women and chil- 
dren are to go aboard first. Then the men 
from the steerage, then the men of the cabin 
and intermediate, then last of all the sailors. 
The first officer and I will be the last men on 
this ship. Now act like good Christians, and 
good Danes.” 

There was profound silence. A sudden 
calm settled over all these seven hundred emi- 
grants as they summoned up courage and re- 
solved to meet their fate bravely. Mothers 
hugged their children closer and shed a few si- 
lent tears; families drew together; women who 


f< Out of the Depths !' 245 

had no small children, took up in their arms 
the little ones of some women whose children 
were all small. Men exhorted their wives to 
have no fears in the boats and that they them- 
selves would soon join them on the other ship. 

The doctor came down. “ You, women, 
all of you ! remember that on your being quiet 
and letting yourselves be put into and out of the 
boats quickly the lives of these men depend ! 
If you make the matter long, this ship may go 
down before we are all out of it." 

The sun shone brightly. It was high noon. 
The sea rolled in great swells like hills, and it 
seemed as if it must be impossible to make the 
transfer from ship to ship, in those small boats 
on those heavy seas. 

Jens whispered to the pastor and the doctor, 
then he and Gorg picked up Marie, Lars seized 
the arm of Gerda, some one took Gretchen, 
another group was swept up quickly, and Marie, 
Gretchen and Gerda were in the first boat, 
while Jens and Lars scrambled back to the deck 
like cats. “ Hi ! boy, you may come ! ” cried 
one of the men in the boat. “ There’s room for 
a younker.” 

“ Take her then,” said Lars, seizing a little 
girl and pushing her into the arms of Gorg, who 
flung her into the strong grasp of the sailor. 


246 


Frii Dagmars Son. 


Lars looked at Jens. “ Jens, let us be the last; 
some one must be, and we’ve no mothers nor 
such — ” 

“ Aye,” said Jens, “ we’ll let the family men, 
and the mothers’ sons go first, my boy; our 
mothers are both higher up.” 

Boat after boat, boat after boat, no struggles, 
no loud cries, a few sobs, many pallid faces, a 
wringing of hands that might be parting forever, 
and hour after hour the work of transfer went 
on with ever-inceasing speed. 


CHAPTER XV. 

"/HEN THE NIGHT WAS DARKEST. 

“ And now the storm blast came , and he 
Was tyrannous and strong , 

He struck with his overtaking wings , 

And hurried us along.” 

It took five hours to make the change of 
passengers from the “ Danmark ” to the “ Mis- 
souri.” Not an accident occurred, not a limb 
was broken, not a life lost. The hardy sailors, 
English and Danish, worked, each man a hero ; 
such mighty Danes as Jens and Peter Kime 
lifted women, and weaker men, and tossed lit- 
tle children in safety over the great green swells, 
into arms outstretched to hand them to their 
mothers. When the last boat-load of women 
reached the “ Missouri,” and the transfer of the 
men began, a loud cry went up from the decks 
of the “ Missouri,” from women in deadly terror 
of seeing the “Danmark ” go down with their 
husbands and sons aboard, and every boat-load 
was welcomed with wild shouts of joy and re- 
lief, and friends were greeted with rapturous 

ZA7 


248 


Frii Dagmars Son. 


embraces, as if they had been parted for years 
or had come back to earth from beyond the 
borders of the grave. Every passenger had 
left the “ Danmark ” when, in the first boat that 
carried sailors, went Jens, Lars and Peter Kime, 
Pastor Hama, the ship’s surgeon, and certain 
sailors. Still on the deck of the “ Danmark, 0 
now low to the water’s edge, stood Captain 
Kundsen and his officers alone. “ Come at 
once or you will go down ! ” shouted Captain 
Murrell, and then, having “ saved all that were 
with them in the ship/’ these heroes of the sea 
flung themselves into the last boat, and as they 
stepped upon the “ Missouri ” the hawser be- 
tween the ships was cast off, and with great 
strokes of her engine, the “ Missouri ” made 
haste to put more sea-room between herself and 
her sinking neighbor. As soon as the feet of 
Lars touched the “ Missouri ” a little figure in 
a blue gown, the ends of a red kerchief fluttering 
behind her neck, came flying down the deck to 
meet him. “ Oh Lars, Lars ! ” cried Gerda 
clasping her arms about him. “ I was so afraid 
you would be drowned ! I cried all the time ! 
Why didn’t you come in the boat with us ? 
The men said you could.” 

“ Do you think,” demanded Lars with scorn, 
“ that I’d be so mean and greedy as to crowd off 


When the Night was Darkest . 249 

first, when there were women and little chil- 
dren left behind ? ” 

“ I went,” said Gerda, much abashed. “ Was 
I mean and greedy ? ” 

“ No, of course not,” said Lars, loftily, “ you 
are a girl, and that makes the difference ; besides 
it was your business to keep with Gretchen. 
Where are Gretchen and Marie ? ” 

“ They’re in the cabin ! ” cried Gerda. “ They 
have a little room all to themselves, and Frii 
Klum, — -just like ladies. No one else except 
the first cabin passe ngers'has a little room, ,, 
and Gerda tossed her yellow head, with just 
pride in the promotion of her especial 
friends. 

But oh, how the “Missouri” was crowded! 
Packed together, not even room to lie down, 
except for the very feeble. And yet at first 
not a word of murmur or complaint was heard. 
Every face was full of joy and gratitude at feel- 
ing once more a strong ship under them. 
Thankfulness for spared lives overpowered 
every other emotion. The families settled 
themselves together, taking up as little room 
as possible. The children were distributed 
wherever there was a lap to hold them ; men 
put strong arms about their wives to give them 
support, and now it was six o’clock, and the last 


25o Frit Dagmars Son. 

vestige of the wreck of the “ Danmark ” was 
out of sight. 

The dark came down early, for the sun had 
set in black clouds, the wind rose to a gale, 
and an awful storm broke upon the over-crowded 
“ Missouri ” ; the waves washed across the decks, 
wetting the frightened, huddled, groups. The 
sailors of the “ Missouri ” hastened to spread 
sails over the crowds on the open decks, to 
shelter them a little from the wind and water. 
The cabins, the forecastle, every sheltered part 
of the ship was thronged with women and chil- 
dren, and it was beautiful to see the self-sacri- 
fice and heart-kindness shown. 

“ Take my place ; you are an old woman, 
and I can stand the exposure better.” 

“ Come in under shelter, and I will go on 
deck; your baby is but young.” 

“ Take my place down here, for you are the 
mother of little children, you cannot afford to 
die yet, and I am a woman alone.” 

Added to the storm, the cold and the 
wet, was hunger. The “Missouri” had not 
food for eight hundred guests, that every 
one should have enough. Soup was made, 
and a small portion of ship’s biscuit and soup 
passed to each one. Here again with homely 
kindness men pressed their portion of food to 


When the Night was Darkest . 2 5 1 

the lips of nursing mothers, or silenced with 
it the ravenous hunger of children. 

And now some sobbed that they were as 
surely lost as ever: this ship could not stand 
the storm, they must sink before day. Others 
moaned over their lost property: household 
gear, clothes, tools, seeds, their little all had 
gone down with the “Danmark." Destitute 
and homeless, they would be landed on the 
shores of the new world. The thrifty Danes 
little liked the prospect of being pauper 
emigrants. 

“ The Thingvalla Line will pay us for all our 
losses," suggested a man. “ I know the laws." 

“ Aye, but when ? We’ll have a chance to 
starve to death, before we’re paid." 

“ Not we. Them as is to drown before day 
won’t live to starve.’’ 

“We might as well starve as reach America 
without a change of clothes, or a blanket to our 
beds." 

“ And never a bed to lack a blanket either. 
We’re doomed." \ 

“ What's the use of lamenting, man ? They've 
done for us all they could." 

“ If this ship had run by us in our trouble, 
she would now be safe beyond this storm. Were 
guests aboard, as one may say, and why be 


252 


Fril Dagmars Son . 


ungrateful ? If we must drown, let’s make no 
noise over it.” 

“The good Lord may deliver us out of this, 
as out of what’s gone before.” 

And so amid their troubles, staunch courage 
and faithful patience prevailed, and order was 
maintained on the “ Missouri.” 

Jens had seized on Lars and Gerda and put 
them in a corner of the cabin. “ I’ll be just 
beyond the door,” he said; “ if I’m needed, call 
for me. You stay here.” 

Gerda pitying the condition of those without, 
went and wrapped her plaid shawl about a wo- 
man and young girl, a mother and daughter, 
clinging close together. Lars handed his soup 
over to double the portion of an infirm old man 
who leaned on Jen’s broad shoulder for support ; 
and then he and Gerda shared what was given 
Gerda. 

“ Lars,” said Gerda, “ I think you and I are 
the only ones who saved all our things; our oil- 
skin bags are just as safe tied to us as ever.” 

“ It is a time when it is well to have nothing,” 
said a mother near them; “ you have the less to 
mourn over. Ah, the good oak chests of clothes 
and bedding I have lost in yon ship ! ” 

“ But think of Gretchen ! ” cried Gerda. “ She 
saved nothing. All her beautiful marriage 


When the Night was Darkest, 253 

dress, and the goods she has worked on this 
four years, and all the gifts from her friends at 
home, gone down in the sea.” 

Just then the voice of Gretchen called “ Lars! 
Lars ! come to me.” Lars, by the dull light of 
a swinging lamp, made his way over and among 
the crowded figures on the floor, to the little 
door behind which stood Gretchen with a 
bundle. 

“ Lars, Marie Linnie has a little baby, and 
I don’t know how to take care of it. I can’t 
keep my feet, and if I put it in the berth it will 
be thrown out and killed. Bless the little dear! 
She has come to a world of trouble. I believe 
you are the only creature on this ship that can 
keep your legs in all this pitching and rolling ! 
Won’t you take her? Whatever you do, keep 
her rolled up, and don’t let her head get hit. 
Here’s my shawl to wrap over you, to keep 
her sheltered.” 

“ All right,” said Lars, “ hand her over. 
Don’t fear for her, Marie ! Lll keep her as safe 
as if she was in a cradle. I don’t mind the way 
the ship acts. When you want her, call out, 
Gretchen,” and very proud of his appointment 
as head nurse to the new passenger on the 
“ Missouri,” he made his way back to Gerda. 
Thinking it kind and polite to inform Jens, he 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


254 

put his head out of the cabin door and shouted, 
“Jens ! Frii Marie Linnie has an awfully nice 
little girl — only — she isn’t very big.” 

“Bless the boy, how well he handles that 
baby ! ” cried one of the women. “ I’d take it my- 
self, only I’m tumbled about like a ball with 
every lurch of the ship. I can’t take care of 
myself, let alone a baby.” 

“ It’s well for us we are packed so tight we 
haven’t far to fall or roll,” replied another, “ or 
we’d get our bones broken each plunge. Ill 
fare the day I left my home in Denmark ! ” 

Meanwhile Lars was bestowing himself in 
his crowded corner. “I’ve got Gretchen’s big 
shawl, Cerda,” he said. “Now you wrap it 
round you, and leave an end to fetch up in 
front of me over this baby, and you get in here 
between me and the wall, and try and go to 
sleep: then if I do give a jerk with the ship, 
why, the baby will have you to hit against and 
she won’t be hurt. I’ll put out my elbow 
and my knee and make a kind of brace for you, 
Gerda, so you will not be tumbled about, and 
you can sleep as snug as a kitten.” 

“ I wish I could see the baby,” said Gerda. 

“So you can,” replied Lars. “ I’ll pull open 
the corner of her blanket. Oh look ! Her eyes 
are wide open, and she is sucking her thumb.” 


When the Night was Darkest . 2 55 

“ Poor little soul, she’s hungry,” cried one of 
the women. “She’ll starve before morning. 
And the cold and colic she’ll get ! She ought to 
have a drop of hot sling. There’s nothing 
equal to a taste of gin-sling for a baby to keep 
the cold off. I’ve a spoonful or so of gin in a 
bottle, in my pocket ; if I had a little hot water, 
I’d give her what would send her to sleep like 
a top.” 

“ Her mother didn’t say she was to have 
anything,” said Lars. 

“ Frii Heitzen always said all gin and such 
stuff, was bad for babies,” interposed Gerda ; 
“she never gave it to her three, and they were as 
strong as rocks.” 

“ And I’ve raised six without it,’’ quoth an 
old woman, lifting her grey head from an oppo- 
site side of the cabin. “ I say, why give a 
child a bad taste when the Lord sends ’em into 
the world free of it ? The world’s full enough 
of evil for ’em, poor dears.” 

“ They don’t all be born without the taste 
then, Frii,” said a younger woman. “ There’s 
them as has parents who takes over-much, 
are born with a real craving for the stuff, and 
smacks their lips over it, like topers. I’ve 
seen it.” 

“ More blame to the parents of them then,” 


256 


Fru Dagmars Son . 


cried another. “ It is a hard world, as you say, 
sure enough, Frii; what with poverty and toil 
and sickness and fire and accidents, and losses, 
and death, and disappointments and going to 
sea in ships, it’s hard enough ; and it is a pity 
to stir up more trouble with stuff that always 
does more harm than good. Its a bad world 
the child’s come to, in this storm.” 

“ Well, she’s not going to have anything un- 
less Fru Linnie says it,” proclaimed Lars, feel- 
ing himself master of the situation, as in posses- 
sion of the baby, and the only one able to keep 
his legs. “ She is going to sleep just as nice. 
Why don’t you go to sleep too, Gerda ? ” 

“ Lars,” said Gerda, “I — I want to say my 
prayers before I go to sleep. Don’t you think 
we’d better say the Lord’s prayer again, Lars ? ” 
“ Yes, let’s,” said Lars, so Gerda scrambled to 
her knees, clinging to his shoulder, and they 
bowed their heads together over the baby. 

Jens, standing on the deck, leaning against 
the cabin door, saw this simple scene. Captain 
Murrell had come down through the ship, to 
see how all was going, leaving for the instant 
the first officer on the bridge. Jens could speak 
no English, but he gently touched the captain’s 
elbow, and pointed within the cabin. 

Captain Murrell turned ; under the wavering 


When the Night was Darkest . i5y 

light of the swinging lamp he saw the little 
group, the two foreheads bent together in 
an arch above the bundle clasped in Lars’ 
arms. 

He stepped nearer. The children murmured 
in Danish, but the cadences and the similarity 
of many Danish and English vocables made 
the prayer plain to the English captain ; he 
lifted his gold-corded cap, bowed his head, and 
his heart joined in the orison. 

The prayer was ended, and Gerda, content, 
nestled down between Lars and the wall. Lars 
raised his head. There was the captain. He 
spoke in English. 

“ Gerda, sir, is wanting to go to sleep, and 
we said our prayer.” 

“ And what have you there in your arms ? ” 

“ Frii Linnie’s new baby. Would you like 
to see her, sir ? ” and uncovering the little head 
that Captain Murrell might view the last ar- 
rived passenger on his over-burdened ship, he 
said — “ Some of them think she wants some- 
thing to eat, and some of them think she wants 
gin, but I don’t think she wants anything but 
her thumb, and that she’s got! Isn’t she a 
pretty baby, sir ? ” 

“ Very fine indeed,” said the captain. “ What 
do they mean to name her ? ” 


258 


Fru Dagmars Son. 


“ I don’t believe they’ve thought of that yet; 
she’s just come,” said Lars. 

“ Well, to-morrow I’ll give her a name, a 
right staunch, sailor-like name,” said the captain, 
laughing. He was intent on lending the dis- 
tressed crowd about him some encouragement. 

He went out — back to the bridge, and some- 
how the sight of the tranquil babe, the fearless 
children, the calm confidence of Gerda lying 
down to sleep as if in her bed at home; the 
prayer breathed humbly and trustfully to Him 
who holds the waters in His hand, had comforted 
and revived the heart of Captain Murrell. In 
darkness and tempest, with nearly nine-hun- 
dred souls under his care, the burden had 
pressed heavily upon him — and now all at once, 
he felt it shared, nay verily carried, by Him 
who bears up the pillars of the universe. His 
voice sang cheerily as he went back to the bridge. 

Lars translated the promise of the captain for 
the benefit of the listening women. It had the 
effect intended. “ I wonder what the name 
will be,” said one. “ A boy’s name, no doubt ; 
he’ll forget she’s a girl.” “ He will be sure to 
give her a fine present for the name,” cried a 
third. “ She is a lucky baby, sure enough.” 
“ Stormy Petrel is the only name fit for her,” 
interposed Jens. 


When the Night was Darkest. 2 5 q 

What ! then the captain was talking of to- 
morrow and calm, the baby needing a name, as 
assured ? Certainly the danger could not be so 
great as they had thought ! No doubt their fears 
arose from their ignorance, and the storm was 
not so terrible after all ! These suggestions 
passed around the cabin and quieted the terror 
there. Soon others beside Gerda were asleep: 
one by one, the women and children, exhausted 
by two nights of watching, by the alarms of the 
transfer from ship to ship, by hunger and by 
sorrow, slept and for a time forgot their woes. 
Lars, too, after assuring the safety of his charge, 
fell asleep, and never did a baby behave better 
than this little Danish maiden who had come into 
the world in mid-ocean. She slept all night in 
Lars' arms, asking for no further comfort than 
could be found in her tiny thumb. 

Morning came ; the wind fell : the waves 
gradually quieted. The “ Missouri ’’ had run 
out of the ice and the air was less cold. The 
sun came out and the sailors of both ships set 
themselves to remove the sails spread over the 
huddled passengers on the decks, and to try and 
provide drier quarters. People stretched and 
rubbed themselves, and those who had been in 
the cabin or below, gave their places to those 
who, cramped and cold, had lain all night on the 


260 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


decks. Coffee and biscuit were served, with the 
explanation that very small rations must suffice, 
as the “ Missouri’' was not provisioned for such 
a throng. 

Lars restored the baby to Frii Linnie with the 
information, that the captain meant to name her 
when he could find time to think about it. 

“ Poor little soul,” said one of the women, 
“without a robe to put on it, or a morsel of lace 
to spread over its pillow.” 

“ Yes, it has a dress too,” said Gerda ; “ Gret- 
chen brought Frii Marie’s bundle, though she 
left all her own things. Gretchen has lost all 
her nice clothes, and all her bridal dress, and all 
her house goods and the Bible the Herremand 
gave her.” 

“ Poor soul ! Poor dear ! That is what 
comes of going to sea ! n 

“ But she couldn’t have left a little baby with- 
out any clothes, could she ? ” demanded Lars. 
“ Of course she brought the baby’s things ; big 
folks can get on. And then Gretchen loves 
Frii Linnie, for they went to school together. 
Besides, Gerda, she has something : she has on 
her neck a string of gold beads, and nine broad 
pieces of gold. That will buy clothes for her.” 

“ But not good Danish clothes, and strong 
homespun, and good hand-made linen, and 


When the Night was Darkest . 261 

woollen, that would wear a hundred years ! 
And oh, where are clothes and goods equal to 
those you spun on your own wheel, and wove 
on your own loom, and the fingers of your own 
home folks set stitches in ? ” Thus the listen- 
ing woman. 

“ Well,” said Lars, “ we ought to be glad we 
didn’t go down with the goods, oughtn’t we ? 
Gretchen’s mother, and Thorrold would feel a 
deal worse, if she was lost as well as the chests ; 
wouldn’t they? ” 

“True for the boy ; we’re an ungrateful set,” 
said Frii Goerner. “ Why, neighbors ! suppose 
the ‘ Danmark ’ had sunk before they could 
get our men-folks off to us ? Or suppose some 
of the children had been drowned, tossing from 
one ship to the other ! We are a very ungrate- 
ful set, and regard little the mercy of the good 
God. ” 

Captain Murrell, intent on cheering his un- 
comfortable passengers, and diverting their 
minds from their losses to the ordinary inci- 
dents of life, requested Pastor Hama to hold a 
little service and announce the name of the 
baby of Fru Linnie. When all the people were 
gathered and quiet, Pastor Hama made them a 
little speech, telling them that in four days more 
it was to.be expected that the “ Missouri ” would 


262 


Frii Dagmars Son. 


make the Azores, where food would be found in 
plenty, and transportation to the United States 
for those who could not be carried further by 
the “ Missouri.” They would probably have 
no more storms, and would be running into 
milder air, also they would have no more pas- 
sage money to pay, and they might comfort 
their hearts about their lost property, inasmuch 
as the Thingvalla Line was rich and honorable, 
and would make, in good time, fair compensa- 
tion. Then Pastor Hama pointed out the fur- 
ther need of patience with their crowded quar- 
ters and short supply of food ; he remarked on 
the great humanity of Captain Murrell and his 
officers and crew, and begged the rescued peo- 
ple to show their appreciation of his human- 
ity, by exemplary behavior and making all 
things as pleasant, orderly and easy as 
possible. Finally, he praised them all, in the 
names of Captains Murrell and Kundsen, for 
their admirable courage and quiet during the 
terrible scenes of the day before. 

After that he said, smiling, that instead of 
losing any of their passengers they had added 
one to their number, a little maid, none the 
less a true Dane that she had been born in 
mid-ocean. 

Then Lars stepped proudly t forth, holding 


When the Night was Darkest . 263 

the babe, dressed in its simple best, and Herr 
Pastor announced the “jirst-born child of Herr 
Zander and Frii Marie Linnie,” and asked the 
good Danes all to unite with him in prayer for 
a blessing on the little one and her parents. 
“ Herr Captain has promised to select a 
name," he said. “ What is the name, Cap- 
tain?” 

“ Atlantic Missouri,” responded the brave 
sailor firmly. 

And Atlantic Missouri the babe was ever after 
called. 

Gerda regarded the baby with great pride. 
Gretchen had put on it a long robe, and laid it 
upon one of the berth pillows, which Lars had 
covered with his mother’s treasured purple 
handkerchief. Lars was somewhat confounded 
by the curious name, and remarked aside to 
Jens “ that it was longer than the baby,” but 
added, “ It don’t seem to hurt her a bit; she 
didn’t cry a whimper when she heard it.” 

“ ’Tis a queer name,” said Jens; “ but then 
one can find something for short, and so long 
as she thrives and behaves herself, the name 
makes small difference.” 

This little scene on the deck gave the people 
new subject of conversation. The sun shone 
brilliantly, the “ Missouri ” pursued her way in 


264 


Frii Dagmars Son. 


a steady, business-like fashion which promised 
well for reaching the Azores. The children 
began to chatter, and tell stories, as they had no 
space to run around and play; the young peo- 
ple, clustering together, began to sing Danish 
songs or church hymns, and peace reigned on 
the good ship. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


A TROPIC ISLAND. 


t( Yen deep bark goes 
Where traffic blows 
From lands of sun to lands of snows, 
This happier one , 

Her course hath run , 

From lands of snow to lands of sun” j 


Time was when Portugal was mighty. 
Prince Henry the Navigator, early aroused an 
interest in geography, navigation and astron- 
omy. 

Tristram Vaz discovered Madeira, one Diaz 
found for his country the Cape Verde Islands, 
lying as treasure-trove upon the seas ; another 
Diaz rounded the Cape of Good Hope, provok- 
ing, less then eight years later, the ambition of 
Columbus, and Vasco de Gama found the south- 
ern path around Africa and over the India Ocean 
to India, and then Goa, Ceylon, the Moluccas, 
and all the Empire of India began to pour their 
riches into the harbors of Portugal — “ ivory 
apes and peacocks and the peculiar treasure of 

265 


266 


Fru Dagmars Son . 


kings.” Then Cabral discovered and seized 
Brazil, and cruising round to find so splendid a 
spot, came upon the Azores on his way, and 
picked them up for his king, as one might pick 
up a few scattered coins. 

Nine goodly islands, cone-shaped mostly, 
clad in vineyards, lemon and orange groves, 
fields of wheat, green brakes of sugar cane, 
great plantations of coffee, luxuriating in vol- 
canic soil — a people clean, temperate, ignorant, 
indolent, carelessly tilling ground owned by 
European landlords — islands where songs and 
tales of ghosts, witches, demons, fairies and 
saints form the staple of thought and entertain- 
ment — these are the Azores. 

Hither, burdened with her hungry and 
crowded but patient passengers, the “ Missouri ” 
slowly struggled through the tossing waters of 
the Atlantic. 

On the evening of the fourth day after the 
loss of the “ Danmark ” Lars was on deck with 
his friend Gorg, who for once was at sea with 
nothing to do. 

“ Look you,” said Gorg, “ do you see, yon- 
der to the northwest of us, any land ? Look 
low against the sky.” 

“ No,” said Lars, “ I can’t see anything — un- 
less perhaps a thin bit of cloud.” 


A Tropic Island . 


267 


“ That bit of cloud is two islands, Flores 
and Corvo — the crow and the flowers. I don’t 
know how they came to get those names un- 
less it is that Flores, like all the rest of the 
Azores, is a garden for bloom. Those two are 
the first group of the Azores.” 

“ Why didn’t we run in there then ? ” asked 
Lars. “ We are leaving them behind, and go- 
ing southeast. Don’t the captain know they 
are there ? ” 

“ Aye,” laughed Gorg, “he knows — and by 
to-morrow about noon you will see that we are 
still leaving behind us as we run southeast some 
more islands, the second group of the Azores, 
five of them, Fayal, Pico, St. George, Graciosa, 
Terceira — and still we shall keep on southeast.’’ 

“ But why don’t he stop and let us off? We 
want to get to the United States, and they lie 
west. We are crowded and hungry — almost 
as hungry as Uncle Kars would keep us ! ” 

“We shall run seventy miles southeast of this 
group that we shall sight to-morrow morning 
and along toward evening we will come to two 
more of the Azores, the last two, St. Michael’s 
and St. Mary’s. It is to St. Michael’s the cap- 
tain is steering, and he knows well enough what 
he is doing. The Azores are islands made, as 
I’m told, ages ago by volcanoes. They have 


268 


Frii Dagmars Son. 


not good ports or harbors, almost none fit 
for a ship of the size of this ‘ Missouri.’ There 
are reefs around the islands — and you see we 
all want to get ships to go somewheres, and 
only at St. Michael’s will we be likely to find a 
big ship. There’s ships run from Fayal to Bos- 
ton, but they are small. You see, though you 
don’t understand his ways, the captain is really 
doing what is right, and for the best good of 
all, and so, my boy, I’ll preach you a short ser- 
mon, seeing as you and I are soon to part com- 
pany. My sermon is this, that often the ways 
of the Lord may seem dark and strange, and 
as if He is not doing the right thing for us. 
But He knows more than we do. He sees the 
whole of our lives from beginning to end, and 
He does what will come out right, and we’ll be 
glad of, once it is done.” 

“ Gorg — did you say we were soon to part 
company? Aren’t you going to the United 
States with us ? ” cried Lars anxiously. 

No,” said Gorg, “ we sailors have no call to ' 
go to the United States, now we have no ship to 
take there. They’ll send us on ships going to 
Lisbon or Havre or Amsterdam, and from there 
we’ll get on to Copenhagen, and ship again 
there.” 

“ And will I never see you again ? I think 


A Tropic Island . 269 

so much of you, Gorg, oh I’d hate not to see 

you again ! ” 

“ Aye,” said the sailor, “ I’ve seen a plenty 
of partings in this world, and partings are not 
pleasant. Think of the partings that take place 
every emigrant ship that sails ! But, lad, even 
if we don’t fall in with each other here below, 
no doubt we’ll meet higher up. That will be 
a rare place for meetings up there.” 

The next day about three o’clock there was 
much excitement on board the“ Missouri.” One 
by one rose out of the sea five beautiful tropic 
islands, hung green and inviting for a while 
upon the horizon, then dropped like plantoms 
behind the waters. First Pico lifted its green 
peak seven thousand feet above the gently slop- 
ing vineyards and plantations; then Graciosa, 
a garden in the deep, where balmy airs were 
playing, allured them as it allures to its health- 
ful groves many invalids from harsher climates. 
Fayal, with its terraces and fragrant groves 
fell away into the distance, and, despite the 
longing of her crowded hundreds for the green 
and pleasant land, the “ Missouri ” ploughed 
straight on — stroke after stroke, of her great 
engines driving her still south and east. 

“ Oh how warm and beautiful it is here!” 
cried Gerda, “ see, we can be on deck without 


270 


Frii Dagmars Son. 


shawls or cape coats ! Gretchen has Maries 
baby out! How I wish this was the United States 
and that we were to live in one of these beau- 
tiful places. Why don’t we stop ? ” 

“ You might not like it so well if you tried 
it,” said Gorg. “You might find it too hot, 
and then, these islands have fearful earthquakes, 
and volcanoes break out, and whole villages have 
been known to sink in chasms opening suddenly 
in the earth, or have been buried under hot 
ashes and lava. In the first ten years of this 
century there were terrible times here.” 

“ That was long ago,” said Gerda lightly, 
“ perhaps there won’t be any more. Jens says 
that oranges and lemons and all kinds of good 
things, grow here as thick as barberries or cur- 
rants in Denmark.” 

“ Aye, aye,” said Gorg, “ but the good Book 
tells us that ‘ a man’s life consisteth not in the 
abundance of things that he possesseth,’ and 
‘ all that a man hath will be give for his life,' is 
a remark mostly true, even if Satan was the one 
who made it. You’d be glad of firm earth 
under your feet, even if no oranges grow on it, 
once you had been shaken by an earthquake. 
I was on the Island of St. Thomas, when there 
was an earthquake, and I never want to see 
another. Look over that way, Lars. In 1811, 


A Tropic Island. 


2J1 


just about where you see yon sail, an island 
rose up out of the sea, a new bit of land come 
out to look at the sun.” 

“ Oh, did it have grass and flowers and 
orange trees on it ? ” cried Gerda. 

“ To be sure not, child. Just rocks and lava 
and ashes. No doubt, in course of time, what 
with rain and mist and sun, and seeds blown or 
brought by birds or tides, it might at last have 
come to look like these others. I hear that is 
the way that God makes islands. But this 
one did not stay long. It came up, and in 
months more or less, back it went, much as a 
Jack jumps out and in a box, in toys I’ve seen 
for children.” 

“ I wish one would come up here, right 
here,” cried Gerda, “ so I could see it ! Wouldn’t 
it be splendid ? ” 

“ There’d be not much left of the ‘ Missouri * 
if that happened,” said Gorg. “ The waves 
would rise like mountains, and swallow us up. 
We all, young and old, wish for a vast of 
things that would ruin us. I mind when I was 
a lad, and wild, I kept wishing I’d find a pot 
of gold, or get a fortune somehow. But if I 
had, it would have been the worst thing ever 
could have happened me. I’d have drunk and 
rioted it up, and ruined myself, body and soul.” 


27 2 Frii Dagmars Son . 

“ Do you suppose I’d be ruined by a fortune ? ” 
inquired Lars, with as much interest as if he 
expected to receive one immediately. 

“ I can't tell,” replied Gorg; “ it is open to the 
Lord to give sense in the spending of it.” 

“Jens says,” continued Lars, “ that when a 
man has health and a pair of good hands, he 
has fortune enough, and more than most men 
know how to use.” 

“ And quite right Jens is,” replied Gorg. 

Gerda was paying no attention to this talk ; 
she was looking backward at the distant islands 
that would soon be quite out of sight. She 
wondered ‘ What kind of children lived there, 
what they did, what they played with, were 
they afraid of volcanoes ? ” 

The small supper rations were received that 
night with the remark that “ next morning they 
would be where they could get plenty to eat.” 
Besides hunger was less keen now that the air 
was so much warmer. To the people of the 
north, fresh from the chilly early spring of 
Denmark, the latitude, 36°, and the Gulf Stream, 
made a midsummer temperature. 

Early in the morning all were astir. They 
were drawing near to St. Michaels, the largest 
of the Azores. Never had land looked more 
lovely than this fifty miles of fruit and flower 


A Tropic Island. 


273 


covered island : terraces of grape vines just put- 
ting forth fragrant buds, and lemon and 
orange trees in bloom, scenting the soft air for 
miles ; white houses were dotted along the 
green slopes ; birds wheeled in the air ; there 
were small boats and ships in plenty and there 
lay the Port of St. Michael’s. Captain Kund- 
sen came among his people to tell them how 
matters would now be arranged. “ The ‘ Mis- 
souri ’ cannot take you all to the United States, 
she has not room, and cannot take food and 
water for so many. I will goon to the United 
States in the ‘ Missouri,’ and three hundred 
and forty of you will go with me. All the 
women and children travelling alone, whose 
husbands, and fathers are expecting them in 
America, will be first chosen for this three 
hundred and forty. Pastor Hama and the ‘ Dan- 
mark’s ’ cabin passengers will also be of them, 
for they will know how to provide for the 
Minnesota colony. The sailors will go to Lon- 
don or Lisbon, on ships ready to start for those 
places, and the other half of the ‘ Danmark’s ’ 
passengers will be put aboard some other ship. 
Your voyage may then be longer, but you will 
all be well provided for, and will be safe in the 
United States in a few weeks at the farthest.” 

After this the captain, first officer, and chief 


274 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


steward, with Pastor Hama, selected the emi- 
grants who were to remain on the “ Missouri.” 
Of these were Marie Linnie, Gretchen, Lars 
and Gerda, and as some men also were to be 
taken, Jens Iveson was of them, so that little 
company was unbroken, to the vast content of 
each of them. It was announced that the 
“ Missouri ” would leave St. Michael’s thatsame 
evening. 

And now food in plenty was brought aboard, 
and every one feasted. The sun rose high, and 
all the Danes thought that the Azores, or es- 
pecially St. Michael’s, must be the hottest spot 
on the surface of the earth. Now there were 
leave-takings as the passengers who had begun 
to feel like old friends in their season of peril and 
privation, were divided, and some were told off 
to other ships. A steamer that had called at 
St. Michael’s going from Demerara sailed 
within an hour, taking three of Lars’ friends, 
the engineers. 

“ That ship has a bad cargo,” observed 
old Gorg to Lars. “ She is loaded with rum, 
and a lot of sugar that will go into rum.” 

“ Say, Lars, what is that ? ” demanded Gerda, 
pointing to a huge column of smoke, rising a 
little back of the town. “ Do you guess it is a 
little mite of a volcano ? ” 


A Tropic Island . 2 j5 

“ Aye, it is ; a very bad kind of a volcano, 
too,” said Gorg, who had heard the question. 

“ It’s a distillery. They make brandy there, 
and send it to the United States and to Lisbon. 

I doubt, in the long run, but that column 
of smoke will foot up as much damage as a first- 
class volcano, in ruined men, and ruined homes, 
and ruined fortunes.” 

And now it was the turn of old Gorg to go. 
The ship “ Acor ’’ was to sail for Lisbon, and 
forty-two sailors of the “ Danmark,” two of- 
ficers and three hundred of the steerage pas- 
sengers, were to go in the “ Acor ” to Lisbon, 
there to catch a ship bound for New York. 
The party of Jens Iveson were crowded about 
the kindly old tar to bid him good-bye. Gerda 
brought Marie’s baby for a final look. Lars 
watched the old man out of sight, and felt sure 
he should never see him again. In this world 
we are sure of a great many things which do 
not happen. 

Jens now took his party ashore. There was 
time for a walk of several hours. Leaving the , 
narrow and noisy streets of the town, they 
went into the country. Here flowers grew in 
profusion, and Gerda and Gretchen soon filled 
their hands. They sat under the trees to rest, 
and watched the many beautiful birds, or the 


276 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


children playing about. The kindly Portuguese, 
perceiving that these were some of the ship- 
wrecked Danes, whose story had flown quickly 
over the islands, came from their cottages and 
beckoned them to enter, offering them figs, 
oranges, bread, milk, and cakes. Lars and 
Gerda feasted, and several children crowding 
their pockets with good things, they had some- 
thing to take to Marie. In one house where 
there was a young baby, Gerda made signs 
that she had a little baby aboard the ship. 
Whereupon the baby’s mother gave her a very 
pretty embroidered dress to take to it, for the 
women of the Azores are skilful in embroi- 
dery, and in nearly every house Gerda saw em- 
broidery and straw work going on for the 
Boston, London and New York markets. A 
young woman gave Gretchen a handkerchief 
and an apron. They all seemed full of kind- 
ness and hospitality. 

Lars and Gerda returned to the ship, each 
carrying a long sugar cane, which Jens then cut 
in short pieces for them to distribute among 
some of those who had not been able to leave 
the “ Missouri.” The two children almost 
wished that the Azores were to be their 
future home, they seemed so beautiful, so warm 
and so full of charming things. 


A Tropic Island. 


2 77 


At evening the “ Missouri ” steamed out of 
the port of St. Michael’s, directing her way al- 
most due west to Philadelphia. The passengers 
were now provided with bedding and had space 
to lie down and to walk about, and there was 
plenty to eat. Captain Murrell was so cheer- 
ful and kind, the weather was so fine that 
every one was in good spirits. Lars missed his 
friend Gorg, but Lars could speak English, so 
he talked with the sailors of the “ Missouri ” 
and sometimes even Captains Murrell and 
Kundsen chatted with him. 

“ How long will we be before we get to 
Philadelphia? ” Lars asked of one of the sailors. 

“ Eleven or twelve days. You’ll be tired of 
sea-going by then.” 

“ Not I,” said Lars. “ I’d as lief sail on 
and sail on in a nice ship like this, with such 
good weather, forever.” 

“ You’d not make much of your life at that 
rate,” said the sailor. “ Seafaring men have 
a poor time of it, and don’t die rich, unless 
captains, and there’s many sailors to one cap- 
tain. If you like the sea so much, perhaps 
you’ll follow it.” 

“ No, Jens says not, and Gerda wouldn’t 
like it ; and then, when we had our wreck 
on the 4 Danmark/ I felt I’d rather be on 


2 78 Frii Dag-mars Son. 

dry land, and that might happen again, you 
know." 

“ Well, I’ll be tired of the ship and the sea 
by eleven days more,’’ cried Gerda. “ I want 
to be on land, and help Gretchen keep house, 
and last night Gretchen and Marie cried, and 
said Thorrold and Zander Linnie would make 
sure they were lost, and would go crazy, or 
break their hearts. I wish they would hurry 
this ship up.” 

“ More haste, less speed," said the sailor, 
when Lars had translated to him Gerda’s re- 
marks. 

“You do well, Lars,’’ said Jens, “ to talk 
with these English sailors all you can, so you 
will learn more and more English; for the more 
English you know the better wages you are 
likely to earn in the United States. You’ll be 
a rare help to us, though it is true Thorrold 
can now speak English well. I often forget 
that." 

“ You and Gerda and Gretchen will learn it 
too in a short time.” 

“ So we will ; and then our children will be 
brought up to speak only English, and so we 
will soon all forget the tongue of our fathers. 
That seems a pity. In a few years we shall 
no longer be Danes." 


A Tropic Island. 


279 


“ I shall always be a Dane, because my 
mother was, and I shall never forget my 
mother’s tongue,” said Lars. 


And now the shores of America were in 
sight, and a pilot boat had come up, and a pilot 
was taken aboard, and as the sun set, lo the 
green earth stretching out arms on either side, 
and a wide water-way between. 

“ Those are Capes May and Henlopen,” 
said a sailor to Lars, “ and this is the entrance 
to Delaware Bay. All night and a share of to- 
morrow we shall go on, from Delaware Bay to 
Delaware river, before we are at our wharf in 
Philadelphia.” 

The next morning the wide bay had been 
exchanged for the river, and on each side were 
lovely green shores covered with peach or- 
chards in bloom, and apple and cherry trees in 
bud. 

The news of the rescue of the passengers of 
the “ Danmark ” by the “ Missouri ” had been 
sent to the city and telegraphed thence over all 
the United States. Thousands of people 
crowded the river banks as the steamship 
“ Missouri ” drew near her landing. Hats and 
kerchiefs were waved, shouts arose, the new 


280 Fru Dagmars Son . 

world pealed her welcome as if all these were 
brothers. 

“ They doivt know us, do they ? ” said Gerda. 
“ Are Thorrold and Zander there ? why do they 
make such a fuss over us ? ” 

“ I think they are the kindest ! ” cried Lars, 
with his eyes aflame. “ Every one is the kind- 
est ! I think there never was such a nice man 
as Captain Murrell, except Captain Kundsen, 
and Mr. Haas, and you, Jens, and Thorrold.” 

“ It makes me think,” said Gretchen, “ of 
what it tells in the good Book of the coming 
home of the Prodigal Son, and what is said — 
‘ This thy brother was dead and is alive again, 
and was lost and is found.’ ” 

“ And what it says of ‘joy in heaven/ you 
know,” added Lars, as the wild cheering grew 
louder and louder. “.Do you suppose my 
mother knows it, and is glad? Or is she sorry 
I did not come ? ” 

“ She’s glad you did not, because God wills 
it so,” said Gretchen. 

And now steam tugs sounded their whistles, 
and steamers blew steam off to swell the tumult, 
and bells rang, and the huzzas rose louder and 
louder, and on the wharves the rescued emigrants 
saw friends, brothers, husbands, fathers, lovers, 
and mounted high on a pile of merchandise, 
shouting with the best, Marie saw Zander. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


THE HOME OF THORROLD IVESON. 

“ A sunshiny world , full of laughter and leisure , 

And fresh hearts unconscious of sorrow and thrall \ 

Send down on their pleasure, sfniles passing measure , 

God who is over us all! ” 

The rest of that day was to Lars and Gerda 
as a splendid dream, or the revolving of a great 
and magnificent kaleidescope. The large and 
stately city, the well-dressed crowds full of en- 
thusiasm, the streets thronged with vehicles, 
the street railways, the stores of costly and 
beautiful goods, dazzled the eyes of these little 
Danish village children. Besides this, there 
was such a furore of admiration for Captain 
Murrell, who had been so fortunate as to save 
seven hundred people. Lars looked on the 
brave captain with admiring eyes, and “ wished 
that Heaven had made him such a man.’' 

“Everybody wants to hug everybody, 
whether they know them or not," said Gerda 
to Lars, “ they all seem as glad we’re not 
drowned, as if they had known us all our lives." 

281 


282 


Frii Dagmars Son. 


Drawn apart on the deck, Jens Iveson’s 
party waited for the moment when Zander Lin- 
nie could join them, and tell them what to do. 
Lars observed that many gentlemen came 
among the emigrants, examined their tickets, 
and seemed to take them in charge. 

“ They say,” said Jens to Lars, “ that there 
are bath-houses where they are to be taken to, 
free, and plenty of clothes are to be distributed, 
and money too for those who have saved none; 
and on the night trains all are to be sent on 
where they are to go. We’ll do as Zander 
Linnie says.” 

And finally Zander got on board, and when 
his raptures over wife and baby had a little 
subsided, he took the whole party off to a little 
boarding house kept by a Dane, and the good 
wife went out and bought clothes for Marie and 
Gretchen, while they bathed and rested, and 
had dinner and tea; and finally, through the 
streets blazing with electric lights, they were 
taken to a railroad station, which looked like a 
palace, and they were put on a train bound for 
St. Louis. Whirling along in steam-cars for 
the first time in their lives, Lars and Gerda 
watched street lamps and lighted houses flash- 
ing by; and then they were out in the open 
country and darkness shut all in. It was time 


The Home of Thorrold Iveson . 283 

that wonders ceased; they were so tired they 
could scarcely hold up their heads. “ I’ve seen 
so many things, — and I’ve cried rivers, 7 ’ said 
Gerda. “ I’m most dead.” 

Jens put her oil-skin bag under her head for 
a pillow, and as she lay on the car-seat covered 
her snugly up with her shawl. Gerda knew 
nothing more until morning. Lars also slept, 
sitting in the seat with Jens, and in his sleep 
falling against the stalwart Dane, who gladly 
during the night hours supported Frii Dagmar’s 
slumbering son. 

What an admirable car that was ! “ It is just 
like a little house on wheels,” said Gerda. 
“ Why, Lars, there’s a little room with a look- 
ing glass, and a wash bowl, and soap and big 
towels in it. Do you see how nicely I’ve done 
up my hair ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Lars, “ there's one for us at the 
other end of the car. You just pull a little han- 
dle, and all the water you want runs into the 
basin.” 

The Danish people in Philadelphia had pro- 
vided Gretchen with a great, covered, splint bas- 
ket of luncheon; and the morning toilettes be- 
ing made, the party proceeded to have break- 
fast. First in the basket was a big clean towel 
to spread over their laps, and then out of the 


284 


Frii Dagmars Son. 


basket came bread and butter, cheese, meat, 
pickles, doughnuts, and bottles of cold tea. 
They made a royal breakfast. After that the 
day was a panorama. They sped through 
towns and villages, by rivers and through broad 
farm lands, and forests just coming into leaf and 
bloom. What wonders they saw ! White dog- 
wood, a sheet of snowy blossoms; red-bud, 
making the wood-depths crimson; orchards, 
where every tree stood up a grand fragrant 
bouquet, perfuming the air that entered the 
car. 

They went by country school-houses, where 
children were at play at recess or for noon; and 
great was Gerda’s amazement that no one wore 
wooden shoes, and none of the little girls wore 
caps, and all their dresses were nearly up to 
their knees, not demurely hanging to their an- 
kles, like her homespun gown. 

The doors of many of the country and village 
houses were open, and Gretchen, curiously ob- 
serving the interiors, saw neither looms nor 
spinning wheels. Some women sat on the door- 
steps sewing, a few old women she saw knit- 
ting, and once, close by where the engine 
stopped for water, she saw a girl seated at a 
sewing-machine. Now she had seen a sewing 
machine in Denmark, at the Herremand s house, 


The Home of Thorrold Iveson . 285 

but here it seemed that quite poor people had 
them ! 

There was so much that looked odd to Lars 
and Gerda, that their tongues kept flying, and 
shouts of laughter intermingled with their 
quaint remarks. 

“ What ! No storks ! No birds on the roof! 
but those funny short-legged little sparrows ! 
Well, where would they put storks ! Only see 
what little small chimneys, and sometimes only a 
tin pipe poked through a hole ! Could a stork 
build there ? There were also no thatched 
roofs, only wooden roofs, ‘shingles and tin’ did 
Zander say ? Oh my, storks did well not to 
try it ! ’’ 

“Only look! geese and hens out, and no 
one to look after them ! Wouldn’t they be 
lost ? Wouldn't they be stolen ? Look ! The 
geese with their necks stretched out run at that 
girl, a girl nearly as large as Gerda, and she 
runs screaming ! what a coward of a girl. 
Why does she not take a rod and teach those 
geese good Danish manners ? ” 

“ Do but see ! Here are hens and chickens 
all shut off in narrow yards, with very high fine 
fences between, and they put their heads 
through the fences to look at each other! How 
very funny ! ” 


286 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


“ Wh here is an Insidder’s house — evident- 
ly an insidder’s, — and in the kitchen, see ! 
a great iron stove, and at the best room win- 
dow lace curtains ! Oh ! Oh ! " 

“Look! Look! our cars are now running 
along by the tops of the houses ! and we can 
see into all the bedrooms. Do but see the beds! 
Not one has a curtain, and how big they are, 
and all in white covers! No bed curtains! 
Won’t all the people get sick of head colds ? ” 
“ Did you ever see such vines over the 
houses? How pretty! Let us have vines over 
our house. Let us have our house — Gretchen’s 
house — covered with vines, only leave room 
for the doors and the windows.” 

See the numbers of cows, of sheep, of horses, 
— this must be a very rich Gaardmand’s house. 
Oh, what a fine residence ! All the people here 
seem to be Herremaend ! But look ! quite a 
small house near the station, surely not more 
than a Husmand’s, and the window is open, 
and there is a little girl with lace on her apron, 
playing on a piano just like a Herremand’s 
daughter ! What a very queer country ? Do 
you suppose Gretchen will ever be rich enough 
to have a piano ? Do you suppose Zander will 
ever be able to buy one for ‘ Atlantic Missouri,’ ” 
and then shrieks of joy at the idea of ‘Atlantic 


The Home of Thorrold Iveson . 287 

Missouri ' ever being old enough to sit at a 
piano and evoke a tune. 

“ I shall earn plenty of money/’ says Lars to 
Gerda, “ and you shall have a piano, and you 
shall wear short frocks, and lace aprons, and 
leather shoes, and never do a bit of hard work.’ , 

“ What a lady I shall be ! ” cried Gerda with 
rapture. 

“ Dear me,” said Gerda, as Jens tucked her 
up on the car-seat for the night, “I’m so 
tired. I have laughed till I am nearly crazy. 
Yesterday I was happy, and I cried rivers ; to- 
day I am happy, and I do nothing but laugh. 
Why do people show how glad they are by 
both laughing and crying ? ” 

And yet another day began in the cars. The 
children were now somewhat accustomed to 
the sights about them. The New World was 
becoming a real world to them, and not a fairy- 
land. They were nearing St. Louis, and in the 
towns and villages they saw poor ragged women, 
dirty, neglected children, filthy living places 
which could not be called homes — places where 
the door-steps were broken and the windows 
had in many places bundles of foul rags stuffed 
in them in lieu of panes. 

“Yes, yes,” said Jens, when Lars pointed 
this out, “ it is the same curse that makes rags 


288 


Frii Dagmars Son. 


and dirt and misery, all over the world, — drink. 
We’ve passed distilleries and breweries, and 
plenty of drinking places; and here’s what they 
produce. The finest land in the world can’t stay 
fine, if drink gets the better of it. If strong 
drink could get into heaven, it would turn 
heaven into the bad place in no time. But 
heaven has gates, we’re told, that keep out all 
evil. ‘ There enters nothing that shall offend.’ 
Well, here are men, and women too, that are 
the worse for drink even so early in the morn- 
ing ! ” 

“ Thorrold wrote me,” said Gretchen, “that 
in the township where he lived, they did not 
allow any liquor sold. So we will be free of it, 
at least.” 

“ It will be all around us,” said Zander, “ liv- 
ing in the city. I hope I can get into the coun- 
try before I have boys to rear.” 

“ It is well you are a girl, Atlantic Missouri,” 
laughed Marie, patting her baby’s cheek. “ I 
can keep you in the house with me, and out of 
harm’s way.” 

“Unless the harm gets into the house!’’ 
cried Gerda. 

“ Please God, it shall not,” said Zander. 

And now over a great bridge, and into a 
very net-work of tracks, and under the roof of 


The Home of 'Thor void Iveson. 289 

a monstrous station- -and who was there but 
Thorrold Iveson, to whom Zander had tele- 
graphed as soon a,s the “ Missouri 7 ’ reached 
Philadelphia. 

Oh, now what joy for Gretchen and Thorrold 
and Jens, united at last after so many years 
and so many vicissitudes ! Thorrold first 
hugged Gretchen, and then hugged Jens, and 
returned to Gretchen, and then consideredjens, 
and then grasped both in his arms at once. 

Meanwhile Lars and Gerda stood at one 
side and hand in hand. Jens and Gretchen 
simultaneously remembered them, and made a 
dash at them. Gretchen seized Gerda, Jens 
laid hands on Lars. 

“ Thorrold ! It is our friend, Frii Dagmar’s 
son. I wrote you his mother was dead. Well, 
the uncle I wrote of, was a vile drunken miser 
and beast. And the boy had to leave him. 
He had money to emigrate, and I told him to 
come along, our house was always big enough 
for Frii Dagmar’s son.” 

“ So it is, so it is ! ” cried Thorrold, who had 
begun shaking Lars’ hands, and clapping him 
on the back. “ I’m glad you came ! Here’s 
the place for you.” 

“ He is learned and can speak French and 
English,” said Jens. 


290 


Fru Dagmars Son. 


“ A little,” interposed Lars, who, since he 
had been among English-speaking people had 
discovered his limitations, and esteemed his 
linguistic abilities far less than he had in Den- 
mark. 

“ That’s fine, fine,” said Thorrold. “You’ll 
come on here ! Oh, this is a great country — 
a powerful country! Just wait till you see 
my fields of corn and clover, and winter wheat ! ” 

Then Gretchen advanced Gerda’s claims. 
“ Thorrold, this dear little girl is Lars’ distant 
cousin. He brought her along, as she is an 
orphan, and she will be such a nice little sister 
for me, Jens says ; won’t she ? ” 

“ That is well,” said Thorrold, taking Gerda 
by the arm, and laying his big hand on her lit- 
tle, capped head. It does my eyes good to see 
a Danish maid, as modest as a small spring 
flower ! Ah, she looks like home — and like our 
little sister that died, when we were boys, hey, 
Jens ? ’’ 

“ It is so,” said Jens nodding. 

“ My house will be full ! ” cried Thorrold with 
joy. “ My house that I thought would be 
empty — with you all in the bottom of the sea. 
Oh, how my heart broke those days — and now 
I have all and more.” 

“ Except the house plenishing — and, Thor- 


The Home of Thorrold Iveson . 291 

rold/’ — said Gretchen, “ I have no bridal dress/’ 
— and she looked down blushing. 

“ Hey ? Who cares for a bridal dress ? ” cried 
T iorrold. “ I feel like a king, just getting 
you, Gretchen. So come away, and let us all 
have breakfast, and then we’ll go to the Luth- 
eran priest — a minister he is called in this coun- 
try — that I’ve spoken to to marry us.’’ And 
then he found time to remember his old friends 
Zander and Marie, and to admire and kiss the 
baby, and to conclude that they all should have 
breakfast together. 

Zander took them to a little hotel where he 
must leave Marie for some hours. He must 
go, and report to his employers, for he had been 
absent many days, waiting in New York for 
news of the “ Danmark,” and hastening to 
Philadelphia when he heard the “ Missouri ” 
would carry the saved to that city. 

“ Don’t you fear you’ve lost your place ? ” 
asked Marie, anxiously. 

“ Not I. The master himself wrote me to 
keep heart up, and if you got through safe he 
would lend me money to set up our housekeep- 
ing on, if all your things were lost.” 

After breakfast Zander bade good-bye and 
went to his employer. 

Then farewells were taken of Marie and the 


292 Frii Dagmars Son . 

baby, for as soon as the wedding ceremony was 
over Thorrold would take his family by the first 
afternoon train home. 

“ But we’ll write, and we will visit,” said 
Marie and Gretchen. “We and Gerda feel all the 
same as sisters now.” 

Away they went through the city streets to 
find the Swedish minister. They walked hand 
in hand, in good old-country fashion. Gretchen 
had lost all her wedding gala dress, but the 
gold beads of her grandmother shone around 
her soft white throat ; she wore the embroidered 
white apron given her by the gentle citizen of 
the Azores, and around her pretty head and 
under her chin was knotted the famous purple 
silk handkerchief of Frii Dagmar, lent by Lars 
for this especial occasion. And very pretty 
Gretchen looked with her innocent pink and 
white face and yellow hair, surrounded by the 
purple folds: people turned with an approving 
smile to look at her as she went by, Thorrold 
leading her so proudly, and Jens with Lars and 
Gerda closely following. 

Thorrold had spoken the previous day to the 
Swedish pastor, and the news having spread 
that here was a survival of the “ Danmark” to 
be married, several Swedish and Danish ladies 
had gathered in, and the pastor’s wife took 


The Home of Thor void Iveson . 293 

Gretchen to a room where a number of wed- 
ding* presents of clothing, and a nice valise 
had been laid ready for her. Gretchen could 
speak Swedish, and she told of all the treasures 
she had lost, and showed the six broad gold 
pieces yet remaining of her dowry, one piece 
having been spent in Philadelphia. The pas- 
tor’s wife advised her to have this money ex- 
changed in the city, as she could not pass it in 
a country town, and then it was decided that 
as soon as the marriage ceremony was over, 
Gretchen and the pastor's wife should go and 
spend the money in household goods to be sent 
to Gretchen’s new home. 

The pastor gave Gretchen a Bible for a mar- 
riage present, — it was not so large as the lost 
one, and was in English ; but Gretchen meant 
to learn English, and then Thorrold had a lit- 
tle Bible in Danish. When the ceremony was 
concluded the sharp-eyed Gerda observed that 
Thorrold gave the minister a strip of green 
paper, and the minister gave it to Gretchen. 
She was surprised to learn that the green paper 
was money worth three rix-dollars, and that 
Gretchen was to buy a gown with it. 

The trip to the stores, next charmed Gerda. 
When it was found that Gretchen was “ from 
the ‘ Danmark/ ” the store-keepers dealt very 


294 


Frii Dagmars Son. 


liberally with her, and her gold pieces bought 
dishes, kitchen utensils, blankets, counter-panes 
and bolts of flannel and cotton and gingham, 
and crash towelling enough to keep Gretchen 
and Gerda sewing for a long time to come. 

After this delightful experience, away to the 
cars; and finally at six o’clock the party left the 
train and found, tied near the station, a large 
blue farm wagon drawn by a pair of big grey 
mules. This outfit Thorrold proudly presented 
as the first sample of his Missouri property. 
A brisk drive of three miles followed, and — 
'* Here is our home ! ” cried Thorrold, with joy, 
stopping at a gate in a picket fence stretching 
before a snug white house, behind which rose 
the roofs of barns and stables. 

A comely German dame, a neighbor who had 
agreed to set the house in order and prepare 
supper for the new comers, met them with a 
hearty hand-shake, and they all understood 
each other at once. The dame showed Gret- 
chen and Lars and Gerda through the house, 
while Jens and his brother took the mules to 
the barn. What a fine house it was ! There 
was a sitting-room with gay carpet, bright blue 
window shades, a table, chairs, a clock, and a 
mantel-piece with a big china vase, the German 
dame’s own gift. Next the sitting-room was a 


The Home of Thorrold Iveson . 295 

bedroom, and there were three bedrooms up- 
stairs. But the kitchen was the splendid cen- 
tre of the house, large and clean, with shining 
tinware, and a big stove, and a table' laid for 
tea. 

And surely the tea was very good — white 
bread, fried chicken, a great platter of sausages, 
apple sauce, potatoes, and an enormous pie ! 
“ Who could ask more ? ” said Lars to Gerda. 
“ It is nearly as fine asaGaardmand’s wedding!” 

After tea, Lars and Gerda helped the family 
friend to wash the dishes and set the kitchen in 
order. Th£n she laid the table for breakfast, 
and, using Lars as interpreter, told Gerda and 
Lars how to get breakfast. “ First make the 
coffee — do you know how?’ 7 Yes, Gerda knew 
how — but what! coffee every day? What 
dreadful extravagance ! What next ? 

“ And the sausages — you will fry them.” 

“ Yes, we know how to do that, dame. 
Where is the rye bread,” said Lars. 

“ Rye bread ? Oh, child we always use wheat 
bread here.” 

“ Wheat bread every day ! Just like the 
Herremaend ! Oh ! Oh ! ” 

“ And when you have taken the sausages 
from the pan, break these eight eggs in gently, 
and let them fry. And set on the table this 


296 Fru Dagmars Son . 

butter, and this dish of doughnuts. Can you 
remember ? ” 

Yes, Gerda said she could remember — but 
what luxurious living ! 

“We all live so in this country, as you will 
soon find out.’’ 

“ But, dame,” demanded Gerda, “ what be- 
comes of all this chicken that was left from 
supper? ” 

“ No doubt,” said the neighbor, “ there will 
be a paste made, and have it for a chicken-pie 
for dinner.” 

‘‘ Chicken pie for dinner on a common day ! ” 
cried Gerda wildly. 

“To-morrow, Gerda,” said Lars, “will not 
be a common day, but Sunday.” 

True — possibly chicken pie on Sunday would 
not be criminal wastefulness. Still Gerda 
considered this style of living extravagant. 

She and Lars prepared the breakfast next 
morning after the directions of the good neigh- 
bor, who had gone to her own home. After 
breakfast Gretchen put on a big apron and 
said it was time she took charge of her house- 
keeping. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


THORROLD IVESON SEES HIS WAY CLEARLY. 

u Ah, Tom had eyes to see 

When tyranny should be sped , 

She's coming! She's coming! says he t 
Courage boys! wait and see — 

Freedom's ahead." 

Wearied with being- like pious Eneas “much 
tossed both by land and the high seas,” the 
little family at Thorrold Iveson’s remained 
quietly at home that Sabbath. The day was 
warm, the windows and doors were open to 
the mild spring air, fragrant of newly-turned 
earth and budding things. The grass was 
thick and green and in it ran robins search- 
ing for food, their bright breasts shining against 
the dark verdure ; over the fences, lighting on 
the posts, to twitter forth their joy, wheeled 
bluebirds ; saucy jays called and scolded and 
displayed their antics on the boughs of oak 
and chincapin, while red-headed woodpeck- 
ers whirled about the trunks, and made the 
bark of the locust trees fly, as they searched 

297 


298 Frii Dagmars Son. 

for grubs. Upon the barn roofs pruned and 
strutted scores of purple and white pigeons, 
Dandelions and spring beauties and buttercups 
made all the little front garden a choice par- 
terre of Nature’s own cultivating. 

“ This is better than the Azores,” said Lars 
and Gerda, nodding to each other in their 
deep satisfaction. “ Aren’t you glad you 
came ! ” 

How much there was for this little family to 
tell each other ! As Thorrold only went to 
town, and had a newspaper, once a week, he 
had not heard the first news about the “ Dan- 
mark.” Then, when he heard of the fears en- 
tertained, they were coupled with hopes that 
the ship’s crew and passengers had been saved. 
Then he had gone to Mr. Howe, and Mr. 
Howe had told him he felt very sure there 
would be a rescue, and every one would ar- 
rive safely. On this encouragement Thorrold 
got strength to do his work and feed his stock, 
and Frii Bauer had been very kind, and had 
come over and made ready his house, saying 
she knew his friends would soon be there ; but 
he could neither eat nor sleep. Then, on that 
happy day when the telegram had been sent 
from Philadelphia, that all were safe, he was 
out ploughing in the big cornfield, and the boy 


Thorrold Iveson Sees His Way Clearly. 299 

Mr. Howe had sent with the dispatch found 
him there, and he was so glad, he gave the boy 
a silver dollar, and as soon as he read the good 
words — “All safe Will reach St. Louis Sat- 
urday ” — which indeed the boy had to help 
him make out — he fell right down on his 
knees in the furrow and began to thank God. 

Then all cried out their hopes that the good 
news would reach Denmark as fast as the evil, 
so that the many anxious hearts there might 
not be broken. And Jens and Gretchen had 
so much to tell of home, and of the parting, 
and the prospects and messages of the home- 
folks. But even that theme faded into insig- 
nificance before the stories the newly arrived 
had to tell of the wonders of the deep, and of 
the perils through which they had passed. 
With what relish one tells adventures with the 
refrain, Magna pars fui! 

After that Thorrold resumed his narrative, 
repeating and expanding much that had been 
hinted at in his home letters, for Thorrold was 
but a laborious scribe. He told how he had i 
looked at various farms, how he had come up- 
on this, and luckily found a lawyer who had 
lived in Denmark, and who could advise him 
and explain all things to him. He had also 
found a Swede who served him as hired man 


300 


Fru Dagmars Son . 


and interpreter until he could himself speak 
English. What he had paid out, what re- 
mained to be paid, on what terms, and how 
the money w r as to be made, Thorrold ex- 
pounded. And he revelled in descriptions of 
his crops — especially of fields of corn lifting its 
plumed rows as far as eye could see. 

“ And what do you do with all that corn ? 
You have still much on hand; little houses full 
of it,” said Jens. “ Is there a good market? ” 

“ In some places they use it for fuel,” said 
Thorrold, “ so I am told ; but here fuel of 
wood and coal are too cheap, and the corn is 
too dear to use up so. Many sell it to the dis- 
tilleries to be turned into whiskey. They told 
me to take that market, but it seemed to me 
not quite right. You know, Jens, Frii Dag- 
mar used to talk much to us of such things — 
so, as I wanted to be clear in my own mind, I 
went to Herr Pastor, who is over our Lutheran 
Church here, and I asked his opinion of selling 
to the distilleries ; and Herr Pastor said it was 
not right at all, and for me to be content to 
make honest money like an honest man. So 
then I determined to do as many in this coun- 
try do, feed the corn out on my own farm, and 
turn it into honest meat and mules. % And I 
have found, too, that the honest way was the 


Thorrold Iveson Sees His Way Clearly . 301 

paying way also. I raise hogs and mules for 
the markets at St. Louis and Chicago. I have 
twenty pigs now in the pens to fatten for fall ; 
and I have twenty horses and mules and colts 
in the fields, and twenty-five cows and calves 
together; and a hundred fowls; and the corn 
fed out to all these will bring me a fair price 
a bushel, and no one will be hurt by it, and 
Thorrold Iveson’s conscience will be like white 
paper, do you see ? ” 

All admired the honest Thorrold and his 
snowy conscience immensely. Then it finally 
became time for Lars’ story to be detailed. 
Jens told how he had found Lars and Gerda 
crying by the roadside. But here the good 
Jens met a difficulty. He had never been able 
to settle to his own satisfaction — what they 
had been crying about. The shadow of Aunt 
Henrietta lb had been too illusive for him to 
grasp. “ You see,” he said, “ they had started 
for Copenhagen to live with the little girPs 
aunt, but she — had died — or — gone away — or 
they had lost her — somehow, and they had no- 
where to go, and no one to take care of them 
— since the aunt — ” 

Gerda hung her head and gave the good 
Jens no help; already the crowding realities 
of life were making her ashamed of her ficti- 
tious Aunt Henrietta. 


302 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


But there was one theme where Jens felt 
heartily assured, and abandoning Aunt Hen- 
rietta, he devoted his eloquence to Uncle Kars 
Barbe. “This Uncle Kars was a pig, a far 
worse pig then any in your pens. He had 
eyes like a ferret, a nose like a bottle, a voice 
that squeaked like a rat. He was without 
honor or good feeling. He was not a Dane — he 
was a vile Kobold, who had no business to live 
above ground. He starved Frii Dagmars son, 
and set him a most evil example of avarice, 
and thieving and drunkenness.” 

“ Frii Dagmar’s son did well to leave such a 
man,” said Thorrold. “ I am glad you found 
them, Jens, to bring them here,” and he nodded 
at Lars and Gerda, seated side by side. 

Jens then told about the three gold pieces, 
and explained that Gerda was the niece of 
Uncle Kars’ dead wife. He had nearly ship- 
wrecked his speech on the shoal Aunt Hen- 
rietta again, when Gerda glibly interposed, 
and detailed her own life and the life of Lars, 
in Castle Famine. “ And Uncle Kars is rich,” 
she said. “ Frii Korner and Frii Heitzen both 
said he was rich, nearly as rich as the king 
himself.” 

“ That cannot be true,” said Lars. “ He 
had nothing in his house, but very, very old 


Thorrold Iveson Sees His Way Clearly . 303 

things, things hundreds of years old ; and old 
things are worth nothing, are they ? It is new 
things that are worth money, is it not ? Uncle 
Kars slept on the hard little miserable cot bed; 
he had the small spark of fire; he wore such 
clothes as were frayed at the edges, and shone 
slick all down the seams, and had patches. Do 
the men who are rich dress like that ? and 
then Uncle Kars did not buy half food for him- 
self; he was most starved, and even the brandy 
he would not have had, only he got it with the 
house, for almost nothing, from the foolish 
young man. A rich person would not go hun- 
gry day after day, would he ? ” 

“ Frii Heitzen says it is that he is a miser,” 
insisted Gerda, “ and a miser is one who loves 
money more than the comfort money will buy. 
But Uncle Kars is an idiot to do as he does. 
He will have to leave his money. He will die 
soon, Frii Heitzen says ; he has been very ill 
twice, at the door of death — and the way he 
lives will only make him die sooner. Then 
what will become of all his money ? ” 

“It will go to the king,” said Lars, “since 
Uncle Kars has not any children, the money 
will go to the king, who will use it well.” 

“ Then I shall write to the king, to send me 
my things, my gold bridal crown and the lace 


304 


Fru Dagma^s Son . 


cap, shut up in the press drawer ; for the 
queen will not want them, she has plenty. 
Also, Lars, you had better write for your 
mother’s spoons. The queen will not need 
them.” 

“ But we shall not know when Uncle Kars 
is dead,” said Lars. 

“ We can write soon then, and say, ‘ When 
you get all Uncle Kars’ things, will you please 
send us the spoons, and the bridal crown, and 
cap.’ ” 

“ Why did you go there to live, Lars ? ’’ 
demanded Thorrold. 

“ I had no other relation. Uncle Kars is 
my mother’s only brother — all the rest of the 
family are dead. See, it is written here, in 
this record. For this was in the family Bible 
of my grandfather Barbe, and my mother had 
that and the six tea-spoons” — and Lars took 
from the bag about his neck the pages of his 
family record, and spread them before Thor- 
rold, who read them thoughtfully. 

“ Gretchen,” said Thorrold, “take these, 
and keep them carefully for the boy, in the 
safest drawer you have. To-morrow iron the 
pages out smooth, and lay them between two 
sheets of pasteboard for a cover, and tie them 
up like a book, and keep them well.” 


Thorrold Iveson Sees His Way Clearly . 305 

At breakfast the next day, Lars said to his 
host: “Thorrold, I did not come here for you to 
take care of me and Gerda. I want you to tell 
me where I can get work to take care of us both. 
I will work hard, if you will tell me what to 
do. Is there not a shop, a factory, a mill — ” 
“Jens and Gretchen and I have talked it 
over,” said Thorrold. “This is a big farm, 
and much work is needed. Why should you 
not stay and work with us who are your friends? 
If you did not stay, much of the time we must 
hire another lad. Gretchen will also need 
Gerda to help her in the house, and the gar- 
den, and with the fowls. Let us be one fam- 
ily. But first you must learn much English. 
There is a school half a mile from here, and 
there are yet six weeks of the term. I will 
take you both there this morning. I know 
about it, for the teacher has been giving me 
evening lessons in writing, and in arithmetic 
of American money and measures. 

Lars went to Thorrold and put his hand on 
his shoulder. “You are very good; but tell 
me, what shall I do, that I may be sure I 
shall do enough, and not be a burden to you ?” 

“You can work before and after school, and 
Saturdays, and vacations. There are pigs and 
calves to feed ; the wood for the kitchen to cut 


3°6 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


and bring in ; churning to help do; the garden 
to work in. In vacation there will be haying 
and harvesting — oh, quite enough.” 

“ It is quarter past six, Gerda,” cried Lars 
joyfully. “ Let us begin our work at once, so we 
can do much in two hours before we start for 
school.” 

There was no lack of work surely. Gerda 
with Gretchen washed dishes, made beds, 
swept and dusted the house, fed the chickens, 
collected eggs. Gretchen said she meant to 
wash, and Lars pumped water, and helped her 
get her tubs and washing bench. Then Thor- 
rold came and told the two children to wash 
and brush themselves, and get ready a basket 
of luncheon, as he must take them to school. 
“You’ll learn English there with the children 
and teachers, faster than anywhere else,” he 
said. 

After school at four o’clock, they raced home 
over the fields; and then again pigs, calves and 
poultry were to. be fed, fuel carried in, water 
drawn, milking to help with, and work in the 
garden to be done. 

The children revelled in this life ; every one 
was kind and cheery. The school teacher 
brought them along famously, and the school 
children vied with each other in teaching the 


Thorrold Iveson Sees His Way Clearly . 30 7 

little Danes English. At home, as Thorrold 
had said, they were all one family; the hopes, 
aims, and labors of the household were the 
same for all. What joy it was to count the 
increasing broods of downy chickens, ducks, 
geese ! What rapture to find that the pretty 
calves and foals knew them, and ran at their 
call to eat salt from their hands, or corn, or 
oats; or drink bran and water from the buckets 
held out to them. Every day the garden 
afforded new work and new pleasure ; there 
were poles to be planted for the long rows of 
beans, and brush must be set for the peas to 
grow over ; the tomato plants needed frames, 
and the cabbages and cucumbers must be in- 
spected, and relieved of slugs, caterpillars and 
snails ; weeds must be pulled, and new seeds 
planted, and lettuce and onions, radishes and 
young potatoes, and beet-greens, must be 
brought in for the table. Every day was a 
fresh round of interest. 

Each Saturday the wagon went to the town 
three miles off, with a load of farm produce to 
sell. Eggs, butter, little Danish cheeses, combs 
of honey, fresh vegetables, dressed fowls, or a 
lamb, or veal — the thrifty Gretchen always had 
something to send; and now Gerda went, and 
again Lars. 


3°8 


Frii Dagmars Son. 


Sunday was also a gala day. They went to 
morning church, and returning home had tea 
and dinner together, generally out of doors un- 
der the trees — a whim of Lars’ which every- 
one soon enjoyed. Then sitting around on 
the grass, or porch, Gretchen read the Bible 
to them, and Thorrold gave out some ques- 
tions of the catechism, and they sang the 
hymns and slumber songs of Denmark, and 
read the home letters over again, or wrote let- 
ters home ; and talked of the home folks, and 
Gerda came out strongly in tales, and min- 
gled the life of Joseph or Daniel or John the 
Baptist with stories of how Neckan wept to 
find a soul — 

“He wept — the earth hath kindness, 

The sea, the starry poles ; 

Earth, sea, and sky, and God above, — 

But, ah, not human souls.” 

Gerda was as a right hand to Gretchen ; 
she was a rare little genius in housekeeping; 
and the two cooked, and ironed, and made soap, 
and cut out and sewed all the goods bought 
in St. Louis, and much more bought with 
egg money. How proud was Gerda, seated 
after supper on the door-step, and working 
Gretchen’s initials in cross-stitch on the sheets 
and towels and table-cloths ! Meanwhile 


Thor void Iveson Sees His Way Clearly . 309 

Gretchen knit, and Thorrold, Jens, and Lars 
rested, after the heavy work of the day. 

At such times they were apt to indulge in 
reminiscences of the summer before. 

“I spent my evenings looking forward to 
this,” said Jens. “ Ah how lonely I would 
be, lying here on the steps alone, and think- 
ing — would you ever ever come ! ” cried Thor- 
rold. 

“ At this time, I would be taking the 
Herremand’s children out for a cool evening 
walk,” said Gretchen. 

“We didn’t have such luck,” said Gerda. 
“ Perhaps we were playing in the yard, or 
perhaps Uncle Kars had gone off, and locked 
Lars up, and we sat and talked to each other 
from the attic windows, and Fru Korner sent 
him up food in a basket. Oh, Lars ! do you 
remember the time we ran away and stayed 
in the beech woods all day ? ” 

“ I don’t look much as I did then, 7 ’ said 
Lars. “ Then I got smaller all the time. I 
could count all my bones ; now see how fat I 
am, and see my muscle — what do you think of 
that ! ” and he opened and shut his hand, and 
drew back his forearm to the shoulder with 
just pride in well-developed biceps. 

“ Aye, it's fine,” said Jens admiringly. 


310 Frii Dagmars Son. 

“And you have such a broad back,” said 
Gretchen; “ you will be nearly as big as Jens, 
some day.” 

“ Uncle Kars will get come up with yet,” 
said Gerda, “ God will punish him; he is a 
wicked man; he oppresses the poor and robs 
the widow and orphan; and he will be judged 
for it, — Frii Kornersaid so.” She spoke with 
gusto; she was still in the state of rabid indig- 
nation against Uncle Kars. 

“ Pshaw, Gerda ! He liked you better than 
he did me. But I know one thing he never 
spent on me half the rix-dollars he got for my 
mothers things. I cost him nothing,” said 
Lars. 

“ He didn’t spend on you all you earned in 
skate soles and baskets,” retorted Gerda. 

“ Baskets ! Oh, Gretchen ! I’d forgotten. I 
can make baskets. There’s a place here 
where I can get hoop poles, and split them as 
fine as I like, and make baskets ! I will make 
you a clothes-basket, and two or three market 
baskets, and potato baskets, and work-baskets 
for you and Gerda. I’ll get the stuff to- 
morrow/' 

“You call Uncle Kars poor/’ burst out 
Gerda, who had meditated on her favorite 
theme. “ If he is poor, why is he so afraid of 


Thorrold Iveson Sees His Way Clearly . 3 1 1 

robbers ? Robbers go to the rich, not to the 
poor ! I know that chest in his room is full of 
silver and gold. And think of all the silver 
cups and spoons and plates, and the gold chains 
and watches he has in the big press. Oh, he’s 
rich as can be; and no doubt he is dead by this 
time, and so he has bid good-bye to his mon- 
ey; for don’t the Book say, * We brought noth- 
ing into this world, and it is certain we can 
carry nothing out of it ’ ? * 

“ Lars,” said Thorrold, “ I want you to go 
to town with me to-morrow; so if we are to get 
a load in the wagon early, let us be off to bed.”- 

Next day after other business was done in 
the town, Thorrold left Lars to hold the mules, 
while he went up into an office. Lars could 
not read one long word on the office sign. 

Thorrold remained in the office nearly an hour. 

“ Thorrold, what is that word under — 

‘ Charles Howe * ? ” asked Lars, when finally 
Thorrold climbed into the wagon and took up 
the reins. 

“ Attorney — Attorney at Law,” said Thor- 
rold. 

“ And what is that ? ” demanded Lars. 

“ He’s a man that gives people advice.” 

‘‘That is very good of him,” said Lars, ad- 
miringly. 


312 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


“ All the same, you have to pay for it. Like 
other things that are worth having, it is worth 
paying for. It is well not to go to those fel- 
lows too often, but sometimes they serve you 
a good turn. Mr. Howe has been very kind 
to me. His father was Consul in Copenhagen 
once, and Mr. Howe lived there four years, and 
can speak Danish.” 

The next Saturday Thorrold told Lars to 
dress up his best, and take his family record and 
come with him to call on Mr. Howe. Mr. Howe 
examined the record carefully, and asked Lars 
a number of questions, which Lars answered 
politely. 

“ Did you know any one in Korsor ? ” asked 
Mr. Howe ? 

“ Only Frii Korner and Fru Heitzen,” re- 
plied Lars. 

“ What, no men at all — no official, or preach- 
er, or lawyer ? ” 

“ Oh, no ! only those two. Uncle Kars kept 
me shut up all the time.” 

“ And those two women knew you well ? 
And the two Ivesons knew you and your mo- 
ther ? ” 

“Yes, sir,” replied Lars, courteously; but 
thought Mr. Howe very inquisitive. 

“ May I keep this record a week ?” said the 
lawyer. 


Thorrold Iveson Sees His Way Clearly. 3 1 3 

“ If Thorrold says so — and — and you are 
very careful of it — it has my mother’s writing 
on it,” said Lars anxiously. 

Mr. Howe detained Thorrold as Lars went 
down stairs. 

I’ll write and inquire. The record is as 
clear as day. But don’t disturb the boy’s mind 
with talk. The old man may live forever, or 
may be poor as a church mouse, or may have 
made a cranky will. The less you say, Ive- 
son, the safer.” 



CHAPTER XIX. 


NEWS THAT FLIES FAST. 


“ It sounds to him like his mother's voice 
Singing in Paradise ; 

He needs must think of her once more 
How in the grave she lies." 


Summer and vacation came, and every day 
was to Lars and Gerda as a new song ; they 
set the gladness of their hearts to the rhyth- 
mic chords of nature all about them. And 
with what music the world was full ! The 
breezes made pleasant murmurs, the corn 
rustled its broad blades, insects chirred and 
hummed along the grass which rippled under 
the winds like the pulsing of the sea; the black- 
birds whistled, the wood pigeon cooed its 
monotone of sweetness, the song thrush poured 
her la . quaus piped in the bush, the leaves 
whispered low and the brooks purling over 
pebbles and among the rushes, and rolling rare 
fossils as they ran along their way, all swelled 


News that Flies Fast. 


3iS 

the harmonies of the summer time. From the 
fields where Lars plied the hoe — for Thorrold 
farmed much in the old Danish fashion, and 
had fields planted with beets, turnips and car- 
rots to feed to his stock — rose the bliihe whis- 
tle of the boy, happy in his toil, although the 
hot southern sun scorched him even under 
the shade of his wide straw hat. And the 
whistle of Lars chimed with the carol of Gerda, 
as she trudged up and down the long rows in 
potato field, capturing the wicked Colorado 
beetle, or sprinkling Paris green along the vines. 
Work in the garden, or work in the house, or 
this light work in the fields, it was all one to 
Gerda — she was strong and free and enjoyed 
herself, and she sang the folk songs of her 
fatherland with a right good will. 

Could anything be more pleasant than hay- 
ing time? With what awe # and wonder they 
watched the huge machines rolling across the 
meadows, and the great swaths of luxuriant 
grass falling in windrows. Then, under the 
smiting of the sun what delicious fragrance 
rose ; and what game could be merrier than to 
turn the hay with forks, and follow the laden 
wagons to the barnyard at last, or even to ride 
atop the perfumed load ! Then there were 
days spent in picking cherries, and other days 


3 1 6 Fru Dagmars Son. 

— days swept back out of the lost golden age 
surely — when Lars and Gerda spent the entire 
time in the thickets and pastures, picking 
blackberries, and ate their luncheon as a picnic, 
while they sat swinging in great loops of wild 
grapevine, festooned from tree to tree. What 
a pleasure it was while working in hot harvest 
fields, to see Gerda’s large blue sunbonnet 
moving along beside the yellow grain, and 
have the little maid arrive with her big pitcher 
of new buttermilk, or a jug of true Danish 
mead — water fresh from the well with spice and 
honey stirred therein ! This arrival of the 
little Danish Hebe several times a day on the 
scene of labor refreshed greatly those busy 
sons of the old Vikings, Thorrold, and Jens 
and Lars. 

Gerda and Gretchen were very busy at the 
house laying in stpres for winter. Fru Bauer 
came often to expound to them how things 
must be done in America. She insisted much 
on canning fruit, but when the frugal Gret- 
chen heard that this process required not only 
sugar, but for every quart, a can costing ten 
cents, she cried out that that was far too ex- 
pensive for young people who had a mort- 
gage on their farm. 

“ But what will you do for your table in the 
winter ? ” asked Frii Bauer. 


News that Flies Fast. 317 

“ It will not be hard to provide food for the 
table, in a land where, as Thorrold tells me, you 
have only to dig holes in the ground, and fill 
them with turnips, apples, beets, potatoes, and 
cover up with some leaves aud earth, and there 
they are, sound and unfrozen whenever you 
wish to dig some out.” 

“ But the relishes, Frii Iveson,” said Frii 
Bauer, “ what will you do for them ? In this 
country we use so much relishes.’’ 

“ And what is this hot sun meant for, if not 
to dry fruit for winter ? ” demanded Gretchen. 
“Thorrold shall make me some nice wooden 
drying trays, such as we have in Denmark, 
and the sun and hot air here will do the work 
far better than the biggest oven on a Herre- 
mand’s place.” 

So to work went Gretchen and Gerda, and 
dried cherries and berries, plums, peaches, 
pears, and even tomatoes, after cooking away 
part of the juice. Later they dried apples and 
sliced pumpkins and squashes, and the kitchen 
was decorated with white and yellow chains 
of drying fruit. Autumn brought labors as 
varied and as pleasant. There were the 
apples to gather ; some must be sold, some 
dried, some buried for winter use — and what 
a world of fun they found in making a whole 


31 8 Frii Dagmars Son. 

barrel of apple butter ! Jens constructed a 
little cider-press, and squeezed out the rich 
amber juice of the apples for making the 
apple butter, and for vinegar, and Gretchen 
boiled some of it down into jelly — a jelly that 
could be made without sugar, and stored in 
any odd cups or jars, was a joy to her frugal 
soul. 

Then came days when corn was husked, 
out in the fields in the crisp October air and 
meflow sunshine; the whole family party 
worked, tearing off the pale dry husks from 
the generous ears; and Thorrold told Gretchen 
what fine beds could be made by stripping up 
the best of the dried shucks. There were 
other days spent by Lars, Gerda, the Bauer 
children and others of their schoolmates, in 
nutting, and they stored up walnuts, hazel, 
hickory, and butternuts for winter, and some 
for sale. They brought home persimmons mel- 
lowed by the frost, and dainty brown chinca- 
pins, and as Thorrold had planted them a row 
of pop-corn, the Bauer youngsters initiated 
them into the mystery of corn balls, and 
popped corn, and molasses candy pulling, and 
nut candy. Gerda said this new home had 
everything that was nice except Rodgrod. 

With all this work there were seeds to be 


News that Flies Fast . 


319 


gathered and marked, and laid safely away for 
next summer’s garden : dried peas and beans 
were to be threshed out of their pods, and 
divided between use and sale. 

The Bauer children had instructed their 
new neighbors to plant peanuts, and Lars and 
Gerda had a whole bushel of them for their 
harvest. Lars arranged with a good-natured 
grocer in the town, and sold him nuts, pop- 
corn, peanuts, and persimmons, and made for 
himself and Gerda each a big silver dollar. 
Lars also engaged some basket making which 
he meant should occupy part of the long win- 
ter evenings. 

One of those beautiful late October days, 
when all at the Iveson farm were very busy, 
Thorrold saw Mr. Howe riding up to the gate. 
He left the yard where the thrashing machine 
was at work, and went to speak to the lawyer. 

“ I have news about the boy, Lars Waldsen, 
whose mother was Frii Dagmar Barbe Wald- 
sen,” he said. “ I wrote to the American 
Consul at Copenhagen, and he wrote to the 
Magistrate of Korsor, and finally received an 
answer, and it was sent on to me. It is true 
that the old man, Kars Barbe, is very rich — no 
one knows how much he has; he is a terrible 
old miser. The boy is his only relative, and 


320 


Fru Dagmars Son . 


the old man is in very feeble health, and 
likely to die at any minute. Also he will not 
admit this, will not take any advice, nor allow 
himself any comforts. He probably has not 
made a will, and says he is hearty and will 
see out his century. It is likely that he will 
drop off suddenly, intestate, and the boy will 
come in for the whole fortune. The magis- 
trate at Korsor has his address, and will com- 
municate with me if any thing happens.” 

“Then Lars is to be very rich ? ” saidThor- 
rold thoughtfully. 

“ He may not be. The old man may sud- 
denly speculate away all that he has ; or, he 
may make a will bequeathing his money to the 
town, or the king, or a charity. No one knows 
what these cranky old fellows will do. By no 
means say a word to the boy to disturb his 
mind or raise expectations that may vanish as 
smoke.” 

“ But what ought to be done with him, if he 
is to be rich and a gentleman ? We are only 
very plain people here.” 

Just at this word Lars dashed by on horse- 
back, sent in haste for a missing bit of machin- 
ery. His hat on the back of his head, his hair 
flying, his cheeks tanned, his eyes full of joy ; 
sitting his horse firmly, his broad shoulders 


News that Flies Fast . 


321 


held well up, as he rode on, giving a smile and 
a courteous salute, he was a vision of innocent 
and happy boyhood. 

“ How old is he ? ” asked Mr. Howe. 

“ He will be fifteen next spring, ” said Thor- 
rold. 

“And he looks well and happy. No harm 
can come from his building up good health and 
learning to win his bread from the ground. 
Have you a good school near here ? ” 

“ I am not a judge of schools; but Miss 
Burroughs from the town, teaches it. Every 
one says it is a good school.” 

“ Miss Burroughs ! I know her. I will call 
on her and ask her to give especial attention 
to the boy. It seems to me, Iveson, that you 
cannot do better, for this winter at least, than 
just to let him live here as he has done, and 
help in your work, keep busy, go regularly to 
school, and hear nothing at all of what may be 
in store for him. He cannot be harmed by 
this course, and may be the better for it all his 
life. It is the lads brought up in industry and # 
sober simplicity, that make strong men.” 

The next morning Lars and Gerda were 
ordered off to school with earnest exhortation 
from Thorrold to learn all that they possibly 
could. “ Fru Dagmars son,” said Thorrold 


322 


Fru Dagmars Son. 


to Lars, “should not grow up as unlearned a 
man as I am. You must consider that you 
have Herremand blood in you, and that your 
grandfathers had been to colleges, and knew 
learned languages. No man should fall below 
his ancestors.” 

Lars was nothing loth to learn ; he enjoyed 
study, and he felt that only by educating him- 
self could he arrive at such honorable and use- 
ful position as his mother had desired for him. 

Miss Burroughs was an excellent teacher, 
interested in all her pupils ; and as Mr. Howe 
had told her Lars' story, she felt that for the 
present the task of refining his manners and 
informing his mind was chiefly in her hands. 

But whatever extra attention Lars received 
Gerda must share. Lars never thought of 
monopolizing Miss Burroughs' after-school talks 
and instruction, or paying visits to her alone. 
Gerda must share all. 

Miss Burroughs was not only delighted with 
the quaint little Gerda herself, but realized the 
need of making Gerda the cultivated little com- 
panion that Lars needed. The children fell 
into a habit of spending Sunday afternoon, and 
two evenings a week, with their teacher at her 
boarding house, and on Thanksgiving, Christ- 
mas and New Year’s Day, she took them home 


News that Flies Fast . 323 

with her to the town, and initiated them into 
American fashions of holiday keeping, while 
they explained to her how things were done in 
Denmark. 

Miss Burroughs was one of those fortunate 
and ingenious teachers who instinctively apply 
themselves to developing mind in their pupils. 

She did not confine herself to instructing 
them in methods, and filling their brains with 
formulas, rules, tables and boundaries. To 
think, to get at the real meaning of things, 
this was what she made the aim of her pupils. 
She introduced new fashions and original exer- 
cises in her school. Notably, every second 
Friday afternoon was devoted to a conversa- 
tion, or original speaking exercise. The 
pupils were encouraged to read, hear or ob- 
serve curious facts, and then narrate them in 
turn to the rest. While a narration was in 
progress the teacher, if possible, refrained from 
all suggestion or interference. When it was 
ended, she corrected mispronunciations or care- 
less or ungrammatical expressions; and then 
asked questions to elicit more careful infor- 
mation, and to draw out the views and interest 
of the pupils who had listened. She closed 
the programme by herself narrating a historic 
event or describing a scientific fact. 


324 Fru Dagmars Son. 

On one such afternoon, when it was Lars* 
turn to narrate, he detailed what old Gorg had 
told him about the bottle tree, and what Mr. 
Haas had said about the bottle ants, with 
their comments thereupon. This awoke a live- 
ly discussion among the school-children, with 
various bits of information about trees and 
ants. Finally Miss Burroughs said : “ It is 

nearly time for school to close, and I will tell 
you about what I consider the most wonderful 
and also the most dreadful tree in the world. 
This tree is so terrible in its ways, that it is 
called ‘ the devil tree/ It is a tree which 
catches and devours living creatures, as birds 
and little wild beasts, and even human crea- 
tures if they get within its fatal reach. 
Happily there are very few places in the 
world where this monster tree grows. In the 
Island of Sumatra, in Australia, and lately in 
Mexico, it has been found. It grows, fortunate- 
ly, in inaccessible places, its roots twisted about 
great bare rocks, in dense forests where few 
people go. The devil tree is not of very high 
growth, and its shape is something like a huge 
pine-apple; it is about twelve or fifteen feet 
high, and ten or twelve feet around at the base. 
The leaves spring from the top of the tree, 
or what you would call the tip of the pine-ap- 


News that Flies Fast. 325 

pie : they are dark green and as long as the 
height of the tree. They hang down to the 
ground loosely, like the folds of a closed um- 
brella. They are from fifteen to eighteen in- 
ches wide, and nearly twenty inches thick. 
Above the leaves on the top of the tree, are 
two round fleshy plates, growing one above 
the other. From these plates constantly drips 
a juice which is rather sweet, and very intox- 
icating. Around these plates are set long 
green rope-like arms, or tendrils, much like the 
arms of a cuttle fish. When a bird or wild 
animal climbs up to the plates or discs to 
taste the juice, at once these long arms or palpi 
begin to rise and twist like snakes. The juice 
intoxicates at once the creature that tastes it, 
and it begins to jump and struggle. This mo- 
tion increases the action of the green arms; 
they wrap around their prey and hold it close. 
Then the huge board-like leaves begin to rise, 
and close together, forming a mighty press 
which crowds the struggling captive, crushing 
it into a mere soft pulp, which is drunk up by 
hundreds of little mouths or suckers upon the 
long green arms. When nothing is left but 
dry husk, skin, feathers, bones, the leaves open, 
relax, fall back, the plates spread out once 
more their intoxicating honey, and are ready 


326 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


for another victim. Even people are some- 
times killed by the devil tree. The botanist 
who found the one in Mexico, thought he 
would venture to touch with his forefin- 
ger one of the long green arms. The little 
suckers seized so fast upon his finger that he 
could hardly pull it away, and as it was, the 
cruel plant stripped off the skin. Now, as old 
sailor Gorg and good Mr. Haas found a lit- 
tle temperance lesson for Lars in the bot- 
tle tree, and the bottle ant, so I will find a 
temperance lesson for you all in the devil 
tree. I think every liquor store should have 
the terrible devil tree for its sign. The saloon 
spreads out its enticing advertisements, its col- 
ored glasses, its gaily tinted bottles of drink ; 
it even brings pictures, flowers, birds, good 
food, to add to the attraction, just as on the bar- 
ren rock the devil tree shows long rich green 
leaves and arms, and gay and honey-bearing 
discs. But you know, the Bible says of the 
wine, ‘ At the last it biteth like a serpent, and 
stingeth like an adder;' and as the devil tree 
seizes the animal which comes to ^ drink the 
honey, and squeezes it to death, leaving no- 
thing of it which can be devoured, so the liquor 
saloon seizes upon those who go to it and get 
a love of drink, and holds them fast, until 


News that Flies Fast . 


327 


their honor, happiness, work, fortune, friends, 
homes, health, even life, are gone. So keep 
away from places where drink is sold, just as 
you would keep away from the devil tree. Re- 
member how the curious botanist lost the skin 
from his finger, just by trying to experiment, 
a little with the devil tree.” 

With such a teacher, the progress of Lars 
and Gerda was rapid ; their natural gifts were 
good and their aptitudes were for refinement 
and courtesy, especially as they both possessed 
that root of all courtesy — unselfish hearts. 
Was not a heart unselfish and self-forgetting 
in thee, last of the knights, most gentle and 
admirable Don Quixote ? 

Spring drew near, and Lars was almost fif- 
teen ; already he began to question of his fu- 
ture, and wonder what he had better do to 
open up a way through the world for himself. 
He could not spend all his days doing farm 
“ chores,” making baskets in the evenings, 
and going to the country school. 

Nevertheless, the basket making had been 
so profitable that he had bought himself a very 
nice full suit of dark blue clothes, and a dress 
and hat for Gerda, who was now giving up her 
quaint Danish costume, the more the pity ! 

One March afternoon, just as the Ivesons 


328 Frii Dagmars Son. 

were at their early tea, Mr. Howe came in. 
Gretchen, kindly hospitable, offered him a 
place at her table. 

“ I will take a cup of your tea, please, Mrs. 
Iveson,” he said, “ while I talk with this boy. 
Lars, how would you like to go back to 
Denmark ? ” 

“ To Denmark ! ” cried Lars, “ I would 
like to see Denmark again — it is my mother’s 
land; but I have made up my mind to live in 
America. I have no home nor friends in 
Denmark.” 

“ But your Uncle Kars. You have been 
sent for, to Denmark.” 

“ Has Uncle Kars sent for me ? ” cried Lars, 
flushing. “ Then I will not go. I was ready 
to stay and be as a good son to him, and he 
said he would be a father to me. He broke 
all his words. He starved me; he made me a 
prisoner. No, I will not go back. I will 
not ! ” 

“Your Uncle Kars is dead,” said Mr. 
Howe, “and he left a large property. He 
has been dead just a month.” 

“ Then the king will get the property. He 
is a good king, and will use it well — only I 
wish he would give me my mother’s six spoons.” 

“The king only gets the property of those 


News that Flies Fast. 


329 


who have no legal heirs. You are your 
uncle’s legal heir and the property falls to you.” 

“ To me ! ” said Lars starting. “ Why does 
it come to me? Not to Gerda ? ” 

“ Because you are his own nephew. Gerda 
is only his wife’s niece.” 

“ I’ve no doubt,” said Lars, “that Uncle 
Kars’ wife had as much right to the money as 
he had, and starved and worked for it, and 
Gerda has as much right as I have.” 

“ The law does not so look at it, Lars. The 
property is yours, and you must go to Korsor, 
and be identified, and choose guardians; and 
many formalities must be gone through; 
and then if you like, you can come back to 
America and live, and have one of your 
guardians in this country.” 

“Then that will be Thorrold — ” cried Lars. 

“ No,” said Thorrold, “ I am not educated 
enough. I will be your friend, but choose you 
Mr. Howe for one of your guardians ; and, 
Lars, you cannot go back alone ; you will do 
do well to have Mr. Howe go with you.” 


CHAPTER XX. 


HOW CHICKENS FINALLY COME HOME TO ROOST. 


“ Far o'er the purple seas , 

They wait in sunny ease 
The balmy southern breeze , 

To bring the?n to their northern homes once more." 


A week from that day Lars and Mr. Howe 
appeared as passengers on a steamship sailing 
direct for Copenhagen. When they sat down 
to dinner, these two as chief passengers, having 
the best stateroom, were placed next the 
Captain. It was Captain Kundsen. Rut 
Captain Kundsen did not recognize in the 
well-grown, handsomely dressed boy the slim 
little steerage passenger of the year before. 
Lars however was in no whit ashamed of his 
antecedents. 

“ Do you forget me, Captain?” he said. “I 
am Lars. I was in the steerage on the ‘ Dan- 
mark,’ and by Mr. Haas when he was killed.” 

“ Why, so you are ! ” cried the Captain, with 
an amazed look at the fine green broadcloth 

330 


Chickens Filially Come Home to Roost. 33 1 

suit, and at the overcoat richly lined with 
otter fur, that hung over the back of Lars’ 
chair. 

“ I might have known there was but one 
pair of such blue eyes in the world. What, 
going back so soon ? ’’ 

“ This is my guardian, Mr. Howe. He takes 
me back on business,” said Lars simply. “ My 
Uncle died, and it seems I have his money.” 

“So? You are fortunate! And what has 
become of the little girl, and the people who 
were with you? You have left them, I sup- 
pose ? ” 

“ Only for a little, while I have to be in Den- 
mark. Then I will go to them; they are my 
family. I could not leave them always, you 
know/ 7 said Lars, detecting the Captain's tone 
of indifference. 

Lars’ voyage this time was fortunate, and in 
two weeks he was in Copenhagen. After two 
days there, he and Mr. Howe went to Korsor. 
It happened as they entered Korsor, the town 
clock clanged out the twelve strokes for noon. 
Lars stopped suddenly ; it was just a year 
since he had fled from this town of Korsor ! 
He recalled it all, how in the bright moonlight 
he and the brindle cat had sat on the stone 
trough of the town pump, and taken mute 


332 Fru Dagmars Son. 

leave of the silent town. Then the houses 
were closed, the market place was deserted, 
only he and the cat seemed to wake of living- 
tilings. Now it was high noon, the sun shone 
broadly over the town, doors and windows of 
the houses were open, people and vehicles 
were busy in the streets. For himself, then 
he was a shabbily-clad, half-starved boy with 
a roll of biscuits and sausages under his arm, 
and a cat at his heels, his sole property. Now 
he was stout and well fed, dressed in fine cloth, 
his foreign guardian at his side, and said to be 
worth a very great deal of money ! 

The Mayor’s house was on the public square, 
and there Mr. Howe was to go first. The 
Mayor was very kind, questioned Lars about 
many things, read over the precious family 
record, and also the papers brought by Mr. 
Howe, wherein Jens and Thorrold Iveson 
testified that they knew Lars to be the only 
child of Frii Dagmar Waldsen, and they had 
known him, and had seen him every year of 
his life, but one, from his infancy. 

“ Do you know any one here in Korsor ? ” 
asked the Mayor. 

“Only Frii Heitzen and Frii Korner; but 
they know me very well.” 

Then there was a long talk about the voy- 


Chickens Finally Come Home to Roost . 333 

age of the “ Danmark/* and about Lars’ life 
with his uncle, and about Uncle Kars who 
had died all alone in his house and it had not 
been known for a long time that he was dead. 
Then the Mayor and Mr. Howe began to talk 
about business, and Lars did not feel much 
interested in that, and presently said: “You 
don’t -need me now, do you ? I want to go over 
to the baker’s shop.” 

“The baker’s shop ? ” said the Mayor ; “ the 
baker’s ? We shall have our dinner in a short 
time.” 

“ Oh, I don’t want to buy bread or cake. I 
am not hungry,” said Lars laughing. “ I was 
hungry though, all the time, when I lived here. 
But I want to see Frii Korner. She was so 
good to me. I should have starved to death 
only for her” — and without farther parley he 
dashed off In the street he felt that it was due 
to his new clothes to walk, but when he came 
in sight of the well known shop door, and 
through it spied an affable dame, behind the 
counter and somewhat floury, he could restrain 
himself no longer, but rushed along at the top 
of his speed, leaped the counter without cere- 
mony, caught Frii Korner about the neck, 
and kissed her on both cheeks. 

Thus suddenly assailed, the good Frii took 


334 


Frii Dagmars Son. 


her enthusiastic guest by the shoulders to 
have a look at him. 

“Why, Lars! Lars! It’s never Lars! But 
so it is ! Why, what a fine big fellow you have 
grown, and how happy you look — and what a 
splendid foreign dress — like a Herremand’s old- 
est son ! There, my boy, I must hug you for 
sure. I have heard the poor foolish wicked 
old man is gone, and the money is yours ! 
God send a blessing with it ! And you didn’t 
forget Frii Korner, did you, my dear? All, I 
can see you yet, such a pale slim little fellow, 
barefoot and thinly clad, and with such a 
racking cough, sitting in by my stove yonder ! 

“Yes, and you gave me soup, and fed me 
full, and fought my battles for me, and kept me 
here a week, and gave me hot elder tea. And 
you remember how you used to send up bas- 
kets of food to the attic window by a rope ? ’’ 

“ Well I do. And when you disappeared 
I should have raised the town, only Frii Heit- 
zen found a bit of paper Gerda had put in her 
work basket, saying, ‘ Lars and I have gone 
to live with my Aunt Henrietta lb,’ but where 
that was we could not guess. Where did you 
go sure enough ? ” 

Faced once more by the phantom Aunt Hen- 
rietta lb, Lars began to laugh and flush. We 


Chickens Finally Come Home to Roost . 33S 

started for Copenhagen ; but we met a friend 
of my mother’s, and he took us to America ; and 
we were wrecked on the ‘ Danmark,’ and then 
the American lawyer wrote here to the mayor 
about me ; and when Uncle Kars died they sent 
for me, and I must be here awhile ; but I am 
going back to America to live, and Gerda 
is to have her share of all.” 

Frii Korner wanted a long talk about Gerda, 
shipwrecks and America, but Lars recalled 
that he must be back to the mayor’s for dinner ; 
so he bought two kroner worth of cakes and 
tarts for Frii Heitzen’s plump children, and 
hurried to the well known house next Castle 
Famine. There again were exclamations and 
greetings, and many promises to come in again 
and talk it all over. And now Lars must 
hurry to the mayor’s dinner. 

After dinner, they went to Castle Famine, 
the mayor, a lawyer, Mr. Howe, and Lars. 
Lars said nothing at first, as they walked 
through the dreary house. On the attic floor 
yet lay the small chippings from his skate-sole 
and basket work. There lay the wretched 
relics which had formed his bed. He thought 
of Gerda, her antics, his own privations, of 
Uncle Kars, and the cat. Finally: “May I 
open any of these drawers?” he demanded. 


“ Certainly,” said the mayor, taking out a 
bunch of keys. “ Which one ? ” 

“ That one,” said Lars pointing, and the 
mayor opened it. Lars rumaged it promptly, 
and brought out a little roll. “ These are mine,” 
he said ; “ they were my mother’s spoons ! I 
was so afraid he had sold them ! And here is 
the crown and veil Gerda is always talking 
about. She ought to have that. Can I take 
it to her ? ” 

“ Boy,” said the mayor, “ do you not under- 
stand that these things are all yours, as much 
as those six spoons are ? ” 

“To do what I please with ? ” inquired Lars. 
“ Your guardians no doubt would interfere 
against any wrong use of them; still they are 
yours, and you would be allowed a fair share 
of liberty in your disposition of them.” 

At once Lars eagerly searched the drawer, 
and brought out a gold chain. “ This belongs 
to the old widow who lives opposite Frii Kor- 
ner. Uncle Kars told her it was copper when 
he knew it was gold. I mean to give it back 
to her — and here are two gold watches! One 
is for Jens, and one for Thorrold — and oh! 
here’s a pile of lace. Gerda says she loves 
lace, and wishes she were a lady to have some. 
I am going to give her this.” Then he opened 


Chickens Finally Come Home to Roost. 337 

a leather case, and there were bracelets, neck- 
lace and rings of gold well set with jewels. 
“ Gerda shall have these too ! Oh, Mr. Howe ! 
won’t she like them ever so much ! She’ll 
want to wear them to school ! ” 

Mr. Howe came to the rescue. A carved 
and silver mounted box stood on the table ; he 
opened it. “ Let me tell you, Lars. Gerda is 
too little to have these gifts now ; they would 
simply turn her head. See here, put the lace 
and the jewels in this box, and keep it a secret; 
and I will see that it is taken care of for you; 
and you can give it to her when she is eigh- 
teen, and old enough to wear lace and jewels. 
You are as the French say, * embarrassed with 
riches.’ ” 

Lars was still exploring the drawer. 
“ Oh, M r. Howe ! Here are more teaspoons, 
and tablespoons in boxes. I want to give 
them to Gretchen ! and here is a silver cup, 
just the thing for ‘ Atlantic Missouri ! ’ and 
here is such a pretty knife for butter, and a 
pair of tongs to pick up sugar lumps; I know 
Marie would like them ! Can’t we take them 
back with us ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Mr. Howe; “ no doubt you can 
take presents for all your friends, and you had 
better take the newest things for them.” 


338 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


“ Of course I shall,” said Lars. “ Who 
would want the rusty old rubbish ? What will 
be done with it, sir ? Will it be burnt up, or 
thrown away ? ” This to the Mayor, who broke 
into laughter. 

“ This is the true modern boy ! He has no 
reverence for antiquities ! My lad, no doubt 
all this rubbish which you despise, will be 
shipped to Paris, or London, or New York, 
and bring a great price.” 

Lars could not quite understand about all 
the business which followed. He was identi- 
fied as Kars Barbe’s proper heir, and he signed 
papers and other people signed papers, and 
he was taken before the court, and prayed the 
court to appoint him, as guardians, Mr. Howe 
and the Mayor and a Danish lawyer, and he 
was given leave to reside in America, which 
he thought very queer, because he certainly 
meant to live there any way. 

He was asked many questions about what 
he wanted, and how he would like things to be; 
and generally didn’t know, and left it to Mr. 
Howe and the Mayor. But one day when they 
began to remark on “surplus, and more in- 
come than one boy could use,” he broke out. 
“I don’t know what you are talking about. I’m 
not only one boy to use it. If the law does 


Chickens Finally Come Home to Roost . 339 

say Gerda hasn’t any right, I know she has. 
Frii Korner says her aunt was a nice lady, 
and Uncle Kars worried her to death! and 
Gerda is to have all the things I have. The 
good clothes and the books, and school, and a 
piano and kid gloves and a long plume for her 
hat. I know what Gerda likes, and she must 
have it.” 

The gentlemen laughed. “ It is only fair to 
let him use part of the income so. In strict 
justice the girl should be provided for. When 
she first came here, the old man said she was 
to be his daughter. But he took no legal steps 
and the child would not stay with him.’’ 

“ She ought to have it all ! ” cried Lars with 
a burning face. “ He hit her! He hit Gerda 
with a big stick; she should have all the money 
to pay for that. He never hit me.’’ 

“ Gerda evidently will never be hit again, 
but live in clover to the end of her days,” 
chuckled the Mayor. 

Concession emboldened Lars. “And, if 
you please, I want to give away a great many 
presents. I want to give Frii Heitzen as much 
as a hundred rix-dollars, and a dress ; and a 
dress and a doll for each of the children. She 
used to send me food. And I want to give 
Frii Korner a watch and a silk dress and a big 


340 


Frii Dagmar s Son . 


shawl. And I want to go to see all the people 
that were good to me on the road to Copen- 
hagen, and give them presents.’’ 

A day or two after this, Lars asked Mr. 
Howe to take him to Praesto. 

“What do you want there?” asked Mr. 
Howe. 

“ I want to see my mother’s grave, and I 
want to put up a great tall white stone, with 
flowers carved on it, for her and my father, 
and I want put on it: ‘Frii Dagmar, from 
her Son,’ and to say that she was ‘as good as 
Queen Dagmar, The Peerless.’ And I want 
to see if old Herr Abt has sold my mother’s 
Bible; and to buy it back, and paste the record 
where it belongs again. And I want to take 
Frii Lisbet Gar a muff and a boa, because she 
was good to my mother, and gave me the pur- 
ple silk kerchief.” 

“ We will write to Copenhagen to have a 
monument such as you wish sent at once to 
Praesto,” said Mr. Howe,“ and we will go there 
in time to see it set up.’’ 

And at Korsor, while all these affairs were 
cumbrously moving on, and then at Praesto, 
Lars had a great honor, which filled his soul 
with secret but overwhelming joy. The peo- 
ple, especially the little boys, called him Jun- 


Chickens Finally Come Home to Roost. 341 

ker Lars ! He had always been called a boy, 
or Lars — but Junker Lars ! A young man ! 
O, that was grandeur ; he had rather be called 
Junker than Prince. You may be a Prince 
and yet a baby — but to be a Junker, ah, you 
must be big and grown-up-like, almost a man. 
It is the prelude to Herr ! Junker ! it was 
music to his soul. He stood before the glass 
and held himself erect, to see if Junker suited; 
and he went out privately and bought himself 
some shoes with very thick soles and big heels. 
It would never do, after being called Junker, 
to subside to plain Lars or boy again ! Jun- 
ker ! Ah, if his mother could but hear ! 

Finally all the formalities in Korsor were 
concluded, and the visit to Praesto had been 
made, and the family Bible found, all dusty, in 
Herr Abt’s shop, marked for sale at three kroner. 

Then Mr. Howe hired a chaise, and pres- 
ents were packed in, and they were to go to 
Copenhagen by the highway, and call on Lars' 
friends. The first call was at the Parcelist’s 
where Lars and Gerda had breakfasted. And 
there on the doorsill lay an enormous brindle cat. 
“I do believe,” cried Lars, “ that’s my very own 
cat — but isn’t it fat ! There’s milk here, sure!” 

So he knocked at the door, and out came 
the Parcelist’s rosy wife, whom he recognized 


342 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


at once. “ Fru,” he said, “ it was I left you this 
cat. Do you remember ? I stopped to call on 
you.” 

“ Save us ! the cat ! So it was ; but you are 
a different looking young gentleman now. 
Do you want the cat back ? ” 

“ No, thank you. I live in America now. 
I could not take her.” 

“ In America ! What wonder then that you 
look so rich.” 

“ I stopped to bring you a little present, 
from me and Gerda. It is a music-box to set 
on your best room table and play tunes. I 
hope it pleases you, Frii. I did not know what 
you liked best.” 

“ Why, bless the boy ! I like this best; but I 
shall never be contented unless you and the 
gentleman come in and taste some Rodgrod.” 

The next call was at Herr Pastor Andersen’s. 
As it was Saturday they remained here over 
Sabbath, and great was the joy of the Pastor’s 
family over the good fortune of their little 
friends, and deep their wonder at the story of 
his adventures. Lars told the Pastor that he 
had sent him a box of books, and a tea-set for 
Frii Pastorin; and when he went away on 
Monday, he left an envelope on the study 
table, with four hundred kroner, that money 


Chickens Finally Come Home to Roost . 343 

might not be so scarce at the parsonage as it 
had been the year before. 

Then on, until they came to the house of 
Gaardmand Lotze, where they had tarried for 
the famous wedding, and here indeed were rap- 
tures of greeting, somewhat increased by the 
chaise, the American gentleman, and Lars’ 
dress, but very honest still. And Lars gave 
Frii Lotze a silver milk pitcher, and to each of 
her daughters a mosaic medallion : and he ran 
over tolnsidder Jan Braun’s and gave the Fru 
five rix dollars and six handkerchiefs. 

The next visit was to the good Husmand 
near the Kjoge cross-roads, where he and 
Gerda had spent Sabbath. Here there was 
a loving welcome, and the dame said she had 
often thought of them, and prayed God to take 
care of them. They took dinner here, and 
Lars gave the good wife some knives and a 
dozen tea-spoons — for take it all in all, Lars 
thought there was nothing to compare in dig- 
nity and elegance with silver tea-spoons. 

Then three miles from Roeskild, Lars found 
the old woman who had in her poverty given 
himself and Gerda a night’s shelter. She was 
making her meager living by goose-herding 
and knitting. She could hardly recall the chil- 
dren, and could not understand Lars’ flourish- 


344 


Frii Dagmars Son. 


ing estate, except as he had been to the Amer- 
ican wonder land. 

“ But the money I got here, Frii,” he said 
laughing. 

“ No, no, money don’t grow that way in 
Denmark/' she said. “ It is gotten in America, 
where there are Kobolds.” 

“ Will you be afraid of some of the money, 
Frii ? ” asked Lars. 

“No, no, not I. Pll say the Lord’s Prayer 
over it three times, and that will make it good 
enough,” replied the dame. 

So he left her, blessing him for thirty rix 
dollars. 

And now, what happiness ! They were at 
the house of the dear Gretchen’s father, and 
here was jubilee. The whole back of the 
chaise was packed with books, candlesticks, 
table-covers, cups, jugs, brass tea-tray and 
kettle, whatever Lars thought would decorate 
the home of Frii Kirche. They must stay all 
night, there was so much to tell. The table 
was spread with the best, and the aunts and 
uncles of Gretchen came. 

“ Fortunate I am,” said Frii Kirche, wiping 
her eyes, “ to hear that my Gretchen is well 
and happy. And then, too, one of my daugh- 
ters is married to a Gaardmand ! }) 


Chickens Finally Come Home to Roost . 345 

“ Both your daughters are married to Gaard- 
maend, Fru,” said Lars promptly, with zealous 
pride for Thorrold. “What would you call a 
man who has two hundred broad acres, all 
cultivated ; who has twenty pigs, and two hun- 
dred fowls ; and twenty colts, mules and horses, 
and twenty-five cows and beef cattle ; who lives 
in a house of six rooms; and has two stables and 
two big barns, besides other out-buildings ? ” 

“ I should call him a Herremand ! ” said 
Herr Kirche with conviction. 

“ That is what Thorrold is,” said Lars, “ only 
the Herremand does not work, but sits in his 
office and directs the men, and he has had also 
a Herremand father. But Thorrold’s father 
was a Husmand, and Thorrold works himself 
as well as hires work. 

Next day, loaded with gifts for Gretchen, 
they went on to Copenhagen. 

They had been in the city a few days when, 
as Lars was out walking with Mr. Howe and 
his two other guardians, who had come for 
some final business, he broke from them and 
raced along the street to an old sailor and 
clasped his arms about him shouting, “ Hurrah, 
Gorg! Hurrah! I’m Lars!” 

It took Gorg some minutes to be sure that 
here was his little friend of the steerage. 


346 


Frii Dagmars Sou. 


“And what are you doing, Gorg? Have 
you got your sailors’ home yet? ” 

“I’m just on my way to ship, in a new 
steamer,” said Gorg, “and I must have about 
five hundred rix dollars more, before I get my 
little home. I am working hard for it.” 

Lars had dragged Gorg along to his friends. 
“ Here’s Gorg ! my friend Gorg ! It’s Gorg, 
Mr. Howe, that is going to keep the sailors’ 
home. Come home to dinner with us, Gorg. 
Don’t ship again. Open your home right off. 
I’ll give you the five hundred rix dollars. 
Won’t I, Mr. Howe? Tell him I will. Or say, 
can’t it be seven or eight hundred ? I’ll be very 
saving of my clothes, and I won’t want the 
spending money you said you would give me. 
Tell him, Mr. Howe, that I’ll give him the 
money.” 

“Yes, yes; we’ll see to it,” said Mr. Howe. 
“ Go on with Gorg to our hotel and order 
dinner.” 

Then as Lars pulled the old sailor away, 
Mr. Howe explained — “ I have heard all about 
this Gorg and his life and his plans, some fifty 
times. I have no doubt it will be a proper 
form of giving; and it seems to me we cannot 
do better than fGSter this boy’s generous 
instincts.” 

“ Old Kars Barbe’s fortune,” said the Mayor, 


Chickens Finally Come Home to Roost . 347 

“ was scraped together by avarice, cheating, 
and cruel wrong. It is gold with a curse on 
it. We cannot find the wronged, to make them 
restitution, as easily as the boy did the widow 
with the gold chain. But this money can be 
sanctified in the boy’s hands by generosity. We 
can cultivate in him the liberal and the phil- 
anthropic, so that he shall not receive the old 
man’s nature with his money ; and the curse 
shall become a blessing.” 

The summer was nearly ended when Lars 
returned to Missouri. He spent three or 
four weeks with Thorrold, and paid off the 
mortgage on the good Dane’s farm. Then 
Mr. Howe fitted him out and sent him to 
school to prepare for college, telling him that 
his one work for the next six years must be 
vigorous study. “ After you leave college,” 
said Mr. Howe, “ you can enter into business, 
or follow a profession ; and you must manage 
your property. Make yourself fit to do it.” 

Meantime Gerda, being provided by Miss 
Burroughs’ care, according to Lars’ earnest re- 
quest, with “all that other girls had,” was 
delivered over to a boarding school, to learn 
music and many other things. 

Mr. Howe told Lars that every summer he 
and Gerda could go for two or three weeks to 


348 


Frii Dagmars Son . 


Thorrold’s farm; and that every, Christmas 
vacation they could spend in town with him. 

‘‘How can we, when you are not married 
and have no house ? ” said Lars. 

“Ask Miss Burroughs if she cannot settle 
that,” said Mr. Howe laughing. 

In Mr. Howe’s office safe, among many val- 
uable things, reposes the sandal-wood box 
filled with the lace and the jewels which Lars 
intends to give to Gerda when she is eighteen. 
Beside the box, wrapped up in chamois 
skin, lie Frii Dagmar’s famous six spoons ; and 
no doubt Lars will give them also to Gerda 
with the other treasures. Who else would be 
worthy of the heirloom ? The story is told. 


















‘ 


























' 




1 











































































































































































■ 





























































. 



























• • 






























































